The Final Death
by Nevermore
Summary: Episode 5 following The Maelstrom: Civil War erupts within two clans, and a Justicar arrives to deal with the situation.


Spelling Television, Inc. (a subsidiary of Spelling Entertainment group, Inc) owns the characters of Julian, Cameron, Daedalus, Lillie, Sasha, Cash, Eddie Fiori, Sonny, and any others from the Kindred: The Embraced TV show that I may have forgotten to mention. Vampire: The Masquerade is owned by White Wolf Publishing. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights.

The character of Matt Reimer springs from the mind of Eric Bowmaster, and Butterfly was created by Mike Shema (although I must admit that I have probably made her a more agreeable sort than he would like).

K.T. Corben, Erica Blackwell, and Michelle Marlowe are the products of Mike Baggs' overactive imagination. I also thank Icy Mike Molson for the contribution of two short scenes that helped me hammer out the personalities of the first two characters better than I ever could have on my own.

Magnus and Nadav were dreamt up by (a most likely drunken) Steve Wakefield.

All of the other characters, as well as the story, are mine. (I'm not sure how much that leaves for me to take credit for, but I'll do so just the same.)

****

The Final Death

By

Nevermore

CHAPTER 1

****

I

Julian slowly stirred on the bed, rousing from his day's slumber. It had been the sound of Lillie looking through the closet for an appropriate dress that had awakened him, and he continued to lie in silence, watching the Toreador primogen pore over the material of every garment she examined. Apparently, this evening she would be dressing for comfort rather than appearance, a truly rare occurrence with any Toreador, even more so for their most powerful representative in the city.

"Are you going to just lie in bed all night, or are you going to get up and enjoy the world around you?" Lillie asked as she turned to face Julian. The prince only smiled in response as Lillie turned back to the clothes in the closet. He should have known that Lillie's acute senses would have detected his earlier movements. She knew he was awake, and did not feel like allowing him to relax any more than was necessary.

"I thought I'd enjoy the peace and quiet for a bit more," Julian responded. Indeed, peace was something that they had had a bit of recently. There had been an altercation with a couple of mages a few months earlier, but that had been a minor event, at least in the terms of what conflicts had been come to be understood in San Francisco within the past few years. After being beset by a pack of garou, gangs of anarchs, and the Sabbat, in hindsight a couple of mages seemed like a minor threat, hardly worthy of mention. Of course, at the time, things had been quite different.

The death toll had been heavy, as would be expected when mages became angry. No other force in the awakened world could meet a mage head-on. Indeed, a powerful mage would be a worthy challenge for any three vampires. Julian had been forced to use the words of one of his foes to remind the vampires of his city to leave the magic-users alone. 'Do not try the patience of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger.' The prince was certain that none of his minions would ever again make that particular mistake. Hopefully, such problems could be avoided in the future.

"I've been thinking Lillie," Julian said, unsuccessfully trying to grab the Toreador's attention from the closet. "You spend almost all of your days sleeping here, and you keep a small portion of your clothes here as well. Why don't you just move back in?"

Lillie turned to Julian quickly, unable to hide her surprise. Years before, when they had been lovers, Julian and Lillie had shared a room in the mansion, with Lillie keeping all of her belongings in the building. When Caitlin had come along that had all changed, however. Lillie had been displaced in favor of Julian's mortal companion, forced to move out to an apartment that she had above her club, The Haven. Even worse, however, had been the result of the accusations that Lillie was a member of a Sabbat bloodline. This had caused her to become a social pariah, unable to embrace any childer, and become all but completely displaced from the power structure of her clan. She had remained the primogen of the Toreador by default. Although her influence within her clan was virtually nonexistent, there were none that could challenge her, either physically or in a commercial battle. She was older, more powerful, and had more mortal contacts than any other member of her clan in the city.

Julian's offer meant that this would all be changing, though. With the acceptance of the prince would come the acceptance of the other kindred of the city. Currently the Toreador were regarded as the lowest rung on the kindred social ladder. Even the generally disregarded Brujah held higher status within the city. With a primogen that was once again given respect, that would all quickly change. The Toreador would once more be the center of the social arena of kindred life in San Francisco, and Lillie would again be considered a likely candidate for the seat of the prince should Julian ever fall from power.

"I would be delighted to move in," Lillie answered with a wide smile. She could not have been any happier. While it was true that she would now have the opportunity to be with Julian, she would also be regaining her lost status. As she continued to rummage through the closet that Julian had allowed her to store some of her clothes, she wondered which was more important to her, her feelings for Julian or her quest for recognition and influence. She decided that at least for the time being, the answer was irrelevant. Both desires would be served by the move back into the Luna mansion.

Before Julian could continue the conversation, looking to make plans for the move, he heard a phone ring from inside a cabinet in the corner. Lillie turned to see Julian's reaction to the sound. Shock was the best description of what she saw on his face. Indeed, she was surprised, herself. Julian had never liked the idea of having a phone in his room, as he considered it the one place he could get away from the responsibility of being prince. He had always refused to allow any contact with the outside world while he was in the inner sanctum of his home.

Julian rose from the bed and walked toward the phone, trying to figure out who would be using his personal line, a line that only he knew about. Archon had talked him into installing a special line in his room, for emergencies only. When Archon had died, Julian had left the line intact more out of habit than as a continuing responsibility. He no longer needed to stay in touch with his sire in the event of a crisis.

Lillie watched as Julian opened one of the drawers in the cabinet, pulled out a key, and then quickly opened the cabinet doors to expose an antique phone she figured was probably made during the early days of World War II. Julian lifted the phone to his ear, speaking with obvious uncertainty.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Mr. Luna?" came a deep, masculine voice in response.

"Yes," Julian responded. "How did you get this number?"

"A man is on his way to your estate. Advise your guards to allow him to enter your grounds so that he can meet with you," the man responded, ignoring Julian's question.

"Who are you?" Julian asked angrily. Any curiosity he had felt had quickly vanished when the caller began to make demands of him.

"I was instructed not to answer that question, Mr. Luna," the voice responded. Julian started to calm as he heard the answer, as the caller seemed to be getting slightly uncomfortable with the conversation. Apparently, the messenger empathized somewhat for the prince's situation.

"When should I expect this guest's arrival?" Julian asked.

"Within the hour," the man replied. A moment later the caller hung up. The prince turned to look at Lillie, who was unable to hide her curiosity. _Rather, she is unwilling to,_ Julian thought. Lillie could easily hide any emotion, but in this case she knew Julian would tell her something, and she wanted to give him reason to.

"It looks like we're going to have company," Julian said to the Toreador. "You might want to look for something formal," he added, gesturing to the closet. Lillie turned back to the closet in exasperation, knowing she would have to begin all over again in her quest for a dress for the evening.

****

II

Rayce typed away calmly on the computer's keys, going over the profits from each of his businesses during the last quarter. He found himself to be in an exquisite position. Years before, Eddie Fiori had been able to wrest control of many recording studios from the Toreador. Once he had the means of recording, he was able to sign many new acts to contracts, effectively taking the Toreador clan out of all aspects of the California music industry, with the exception of the clubs. Lillie held venues all the way down the coast to San Diego, and Julian had never allowed Fiori to seize them. Since the Sabbat siege, however, Julian had abandoned almost all support of the Toreador and their primogen. Without aid from above, Lillie had been unable to fend off the Brujah when they moved into the club scene in the Bay Area.

Rayce had used the Pierce Street Annex as his Crown Jewel and center of power, learning the business of the club owner, and getting contacts within the industry. Over the course of the last six months, he had been able to acquire three more venues in San Francisco, and four others down the coast. He was slowly but surely moving into a position of dominance in the American music industry. This in itself meant little to him, however. Rayce had no desire to be a powerful music executive, as the position was far too public. Additionally, he was under no delusions that he had as good an ear for music as virtually any of the Toreador had. What was important to him was the fact that he had been able to take this power from the Toreador. By doing so, he had been able to raise the prestige of his own clan, while decreasing that of theirs. Status was extremely important to Rayce, as he hoped to one day be the prince of San Francisco. If that day were ever to arrive, it would be as a result of the respect and power he had developed in the eyes of the other clans of the city. He would not be like his two predecessors, Eddie and Cameron, and fool himself into believing that violence was the way to become prince.

Rayce grinned as he looked at the bottom line of all of the figures – $950,000. He had cleared almost a million dollars during the last three months, and he had done so with completely legitimate business interests. He was beginning to see why Lillie had fought so hard to keep her hands on these venues. Rayce began to slowly tap a pencil on the surface of his mahogany desk as he pondered what Lillie would give to get the clubs back. It did not take Rayce long to realize that it was unimportant what Lillie offered, as there was nothing she had that Rayce wanted. The feeling was refreshing to him, and allowed him to realize how powerful he had become. The primogen of the Toreador clan did not have a thing to offer him. Lillie possessed nothing that he desired. Perhaps later, in a few years, she would get something to bargain with, but until that time Rayce would have to manage his clubs shrewdly, so that they did not lose any of their value.

Rayce grinned widely as he realized that unlike either of his predecessors, he had a few people readily available who would be able to competently run the businesses. This would be another change for the Brujah. Not only were virtually none of their businesses illegal in nature, the ones that were legitimate were turning a profit. The earlier Brujah primogen had maintained legal businesses only as a means of laundering the money that they made in their illicit activities. Incompetent lieutenants of the Fiori regime had run the businesses themselves into the ground.

Considering his options, Rayce decided that he would turn the clubs over to the direction of Sam Richards and Daria. Daria was one of the last of Cameron's childer to still live. Besides her, there was only Mark, an expert safecracker. Daria had been the first of a new wave of Brujah to be embraced in San Francisco. She was a computer hacker whose ability had made her one of the most wanted of her ilk by the time she was fifteen. The inevitable eventually occurred, and a special government task force assembled for the purpose of collaring computer hackers caught up with her. After spending a year and a half in Juvenile Hall for selling stolen corporate research material, she got back out and was up to her old tricks in a matter of hours. When the authorities had come for her, Cameron whisked her away to safety and embraced her into the Brujah clan. She was everything that Rayce had convinced Cameron they needed in the next generation of Brujah – intelligent, independent, and willing to exceed the boundaries of legal limitations. While the time for these reckless, yet intelligent, Brujah had passed, Daria continued on. She now served as Rayce's personal assistant, and had proven herself loyal to the clan and to her primogen. As a result, she was left alive when Rayce had purged the clan of the other of Cameron's surviving childer.

Sam Richards was one of the twins, the latest two Brujah to be embraced. They were the childer of Boris Conroy, a history professor at UCSF. Boris had been Rayce's second childe in the city, and from him came the greatest intellectuals in the San Francisco Brujah. Both Sam and his brother Denis were excellent examples of the intellectual movement currently in vogue within the formerly irresponsible clan. Having plenty of new soldiers, and needing to support legitimate business concerns, Rayce found the Richards twins to be a hidden treasure. They were both corporate lawyers with MBA's, and were more than capable of holding their own in the business world. Things had certainly changed for the Brujah, and Rayce smiled as he realized how quickly his plans were moving along. His dreams of transforming San Francisco into the modern expression of an ancient vision were well on their way to becoming a reality.

For a moment, Rayce pondered exactly what kind of obstacles he might be forced to face. He had greatly reduced the wealth and influence of the Toreador. As far as he was concerned, they were no longer a threat to him. The Gangrel were creatures of the streets, and would be unwilling and, in reality, financially unable to oppose him when it came time to make his move. The Telemon had sworn to never make a move for the city. As long as they were true to their word, Rayce knew he would never have to oppose them for the position of prince. The Nosferatu, as always, would remain hidden. They were uninterested in the affairs of the surface world, and in the dreams that Rayce held. The Tremere, of course, had their own plans for San Francisco, and Rayce was certain that the schemes of the warlocks would not coincide with what he had in mind. That left only the Ventrue as an unknown element. Julian Luna would, of course, never willingly step down, and that would mean that one day Rayce would need to destroy the prince of the city. He was in no hurry, though. He had decades, even centuries, to wait. He was finally in a position to make his dream a reality. The last thing he would do would be to rush his plans and risk losing everything he had already gained.

Rayce was quickly knocked out of his self-approving reverie by a pounding at the door of his office. Before the door even opened a moment later, without his yet giving his permission to enter, Rayce knew who was about to pay him a visit.

Sasha strutted in, dressed in her usual black leather biker jacket and miniskirt, wearing leather boots that came up almost to her knees. Rayce looked her over with slight disappointment. Sasha had become his greatest success, while still remaining his greatest failure. She was the last of Eddie Fiori's bloodline, which would have earned her a death sentence under normal circumstances as far as Rayce was concerned. However, she was also a mortal descendant of Julian Luna, the prince of the city. Luna acknowledged this relationship, and went out of his way to care for this member of his family. As a result, Rayce could not simply stake Sasha and leave her body for the morning sun, as he had so often contemplated.

Still, he thought, there was something almost regal inside Sasha. Rayce had decided long ago that the power of Julian Luna was apparently somewhat of an inheritable trait. Sasha had a certain inner glow within her, a power that Rayce wished to employ in his services. This was another reason to leave this outdated Brujah alive. While he had been unable to get her to take an interest in the arts or any other form of formal education, he had been able to keep her off of the streets and out of trouble. Of course, this success had a bit to do with Sasha's adoption of Jenni, a girl that Sabbat raiders had embraced a year earlier. Sasha had finally developed a slight sense of responsibility. It was Rayce's hope that Jenni would crave more and more knowledge as she grew older, and that this would, in turn, inspire Sasha to also pursue some sort of education. Then she would become a great asset to the Brujah of San Francisco.

"What can I do for you this evening, Sasha?" Rayce asked pleasantly as she walked into his office. He no longer reprimanded her for not waiting for permission to enter. He had given up on that quest for discipline months ago. It was Rayce's opinion that one had to choose his battles wisely, and he would not find himself challenging Sasha over a trivial matter when there were so many more important aspects of her personality that needed adjustment.

"I wanted to know if you have anything planned for me tonight," Sasha said quickly. It was immediately obvious to Rayce that Sasha was up to something, and he wanted to find out what it was. Still, he noted, it was an improvement that she asked before she simply disappeared for the evening. Perhaps the inferno within her was finally dying down into a small, manageable fire.

"I have no plans for you this evening," Rayce answered as he looked back to his computer screen. "What is it you plan on doing?" The fact that Sasha immediately started to shift on her feet uncomfortably confirmed the suspicions that Rayce had formed moments earlier.

"Not much, really," Sasha answered, staring at the floor as she spoke. "I think Jenni and I are going to go out somewhere. We might take in a movie."

It was obvious to Rayce that Sasha was lying, or at least not revealing the whole truth, so he pressed her further. "What else might you do?" he asked calmly, not wanting to make Sasha feel as if this were an interrogation. "A movie will only take a couple of hours."

"I don't know," Sasha answered. She knew that she had somehow given herself away to her primogen. He always seemed to know when she was planning on doing something that she had been told not to do, and that fact irritated her. She decided to admit her plans. After all, Rayce would be unable to prevent her from doing what she wanted to unless he took all of his time. That would divert him from his Ventrue-like business interests, which was something she knew he would never do. "I might take her to Chalkers," Sasha responded.

"What did I tell you about that?" Rayce asked, taking on the tone of the father figure of the clan. Chalkers was the pool hall that San Francisco's Brujah had traditionally used as their gathering place. Rayce had called the place off-limits, however, as there was an element there that he wished to keep his clan away from. In the later hours of the night, some gang members and other questionable persons were known to spend their time at the pool hall. He did not wish to have Sasha falling in with that kind of crowd again.

"It's not like I'm going to meet up with a bunch of people and go rob a gas station," Sasha retorted angrily. "I'm going to have Jenni with me. We're just going there to play pool." She looked at the dubious expression on Rayce's face, but could see that he was, nonetheless, considering allowing her to go. "I swear, I'll be good," Sasha added, hoping to strengthen her case.

"Ok," Rayce said, finally relenting. "You'd better behave, though, because if you don't, I'll have a hard time trusting you again."

"No problem," Sasha replied with a smile. She almost ran out of the office and out into the Pierce Street Annex, looking for Jenni. She could not believe that Rayce had agreed to give her the freedom to return to her old stomping grounds. Perhaps things would be getting better after all.

****

III

Julian looked down at the front drive as three cars pulled up. A black Lincoln limousine was preceded and followed by a black Audi. All three vehicles had darkly tinted windows, concealing the identities of the passengers from anyone who looked too closely. As soon as the three cars were stopped, all four doors of each of the Audis opened, an armed man stepping out of each. Every one of the men was well dressed, wearing what Julian guessed were Armani suits, and every one was armed with a shotgun. The prince of San Francisco was willing to guess that each of the shotguns was loaded with phosphorous "dragon's breath" rounds, each one capable of greatly injuring a vampire. The sense of foreboding started to become even greater for Julian as he stood by the window in his study.

The Gangrel guards glared at the visitors, each of them also having a weapon drawn, each side seeming to be attempting to stare down the other. Cash walked out of the front of the house, and at his appearance the front passenger door of the limousine opened. A very large man, dressed and armed similarly to the other eight, got out and walked to the back door of the limousine. He seemed to say something to Cash, and then opened the door. A somewhat short man stepped out of the limousine, and looked over the situation around him. He said a couple of words to Cash that Julian was unable to hear, and a moment later Cash motioned to the Gangrel to lower their weapons. Almost simultaneously, all of the visitors lowered their weapons, as well.

The man walked toward the front door of Julian's mansion, accompanied only by his own bodyguard, and Cash. Julian left the window from which he had watched the scene, and walked toward the large leather armchair in his study, where he had told Cash he would meet with his mysterious visitor. Julian was seated only a moment when there was a soft knock at the door.

"Come in," Julian said calmly. He wanted to give the appearance of a man who had been patiently waiting for his guest, confident enough in his strength that he would be unconcerned with his lack of knowledge about the meeting that had been set for him. He wished to portray no sense of weakness.

A moment later the door opened, and Cash escorted the two guests into the room. The shorter of the two men gestured to his guard to leave them in privacy, and Julian made a similar gesture to Cash, wishing for his Gangrel bodyguard to wait outside the door. Once the two men were alone, Julian rose from his chair and extended his hand to his visitor. "I am Julian Luna, Prince of San Francisco," he stated evenly.

"I know who you are," the man replied in a light Italian accent. "I was the one who advised Archon that you would make an excellent addition to our clan. Judging from how you have done for yourself, it seems my faith in you was well-placed." He grasped Julian's hand and shook it firmly, not offering his name to the prince. "I trust that my attaché gave you enough time to warn your guards that you would be having guests, yes?" Julian nodded his head, still not knowing what to make of his visitor. "I apologize for the short warning," the man continued, "but I have found that travelling is safer if those that may try to kill me have no idea where I will going until it has become too late for them to act on the information." The man then stopped speaking, waiting for Julian to say something.

Rather than speak, Julian instead looked at the man intently, trying to deduce everything he could from his appearance. His visitor was well dressed, which spoke of considerable wealth. The fact that he traveled with so great a security force, as well as his explanation for the evening's arrangements, betrayed his fearfulness for his own safety. His indication that he had been alive when Archon had been considering embracing Julian told of his age, and the accent, of course, hinted that he was of European heritage, which would mean that as a vampire, his blood was probably rather potent. Julian was thrown considerably off-balance, feeling both threatened by this visitor's power, and comfortable in being with someone who his sire had apparently trusted.

"My name, Julian, is Stefano Pratera," the man said as he sat down. "I hope Archon mentioned me at some point over the years."

Julian almost fell over when he realized the identity of the man with whom he was speaking. This was Archon's sire, his own grandsire. From what Archon had said, Stefano was several centuries old, which made him perhaps the oldest kindred that Julian had met.

"I can see you do not know how to respond," Stefano commented, "so I will do much of the talking to start with." Julian simply nodded in response. "I am aware of the problems that you have been having here in San Francisco, and believe me, I regretted not being able to help you. However, I have been rather busy in my own business interests. Several individuals within our clan have realized that one of our bloodline is planning to make a play for power within the Ventrue clan. To prevent this, they have tried to whittle away the power of her supporters. I believe they may even have been behind the anarch and Sabbat invasions of your city."

"People of our bloodline are involved with members of the Sabbat?" Julian asked, fearing to hear the response. If this indeed were true, then he could expect much of the same political fallout that had damaged Lillie's influence not so long before. How could it be otherwise, though? How else could someone influence a Sabbat siege of a city, unless they were a member of the Sabbat?

"There are things about the Sabbat and the Camarilla that you do not understand, Julian," Stefano answered cryptically. "None of our bloodline are in the Sabbat, but that does not mean that they do not have rivals within that faction. There are power struggles going on right now that you could not even begin to dream of. Feel privileged that you get to sit here in your relatively safe, secure city." Julian was almost completely incapable of hiding his lack of agreement with his grandsire's comment. San Francisco had been by no means a safe city within the past few years.

"So who is it that these people are afraid I will support?" Julian asked. If he had enemies that felt he might support a member of his bloodline, he wanted to know who they were. At least then he would be able to take measures to defend himself from them. The best route to getting to the identities of his enemies would be to know who it was that he supposedly had on his side.

"Your support is neither requested nor expected," Stefano replied. "At least not for the individual in question. We have other things in mind for you."

"What exactly would that be?" Julian asked. He definitely did not like the way the conversation was going, but he needed to find out as much as he could. Besides, Julian thought, this was a matter of his own bloodline. Archon may have had a reputation for ruthlessness, as did Julian, but they had always stood by each other. He had been told that it had been the same for Archon and his own sire, the man that now sat before him. Julian certainly wanted to continue the tradition of the members of this bloodline supporting one another.

"We need for you to maintain control of your city," Stefano answered. "Also, we would like you to aid my second childe in taking control of Oakland.'

"What?" Julian asked incredulously. "I've been having enough trouble holding my own city. I don't think I can try to extend my power across the Bay. If I could have, I would have done so years ago. There are just too many anarchs. You are aware, aren't you, that Oakland is an anarch free state?"

"I am aware of the anarchs' claim," Stefano responded, sounding unimpressed with the reality of the situation. "However, I am also aware that the anarchs seem to have left the city. My childe will have all of the muscle that he needs to take over. I ask only that you aid him with some of your mortal connections. With them, the power-grab will proceed very smoothly."

"What exactly is this all about?" Julian asked. He knew it was unlikely that he would get an answer, but he felt the need to ask the question all the same.

"My sire will attempt to become the Justicar of our clan in three years," Stefano responded. "As you may be aware, Justicars are the judges of the Camarilla. Each of the seven founding clans has one. They hold power over all kindred, save those within the Inner Circle. Even princes must bow to the authority of the Justicars. Since this is such a powerful position, though, many influential individuals advance their own candidates for the office. As a result, the one who becomes Justicar for a clan is usually a compromise candidate, and is not generally as powerful as the position would generally indicate.

"My sire wishes to approach the title of Justicar from a position of power. The Justicar is chosen once every thirteen years, and in three years the offices will be filled once again. My sire, Marie Rosita, plans to make a strong case for being Justicar. She wishes to use not only her own personal power and contacts, but also to show her progeny as a demonstration of her own vitality. You are a symbol of that strength. I am as well. My last surviving childe, Basil, will become the Prince of Oakland."

"Are you sure the plan will work?" Julian asked. He was truly in the dark as to what would be necessary to become a Justicar of a clan. His ambitions had always been on a lower level, only wishing to become prince of a city. That position brought enough prestige and problems to keep him busy for an eternity.

"It may," Stefano responded. "The plan has been set in motion, regardless. My childe will be coming to visit you tomorrow evening. You may then discuss your plans." Stefano got up and walked toward the door, satisfied that he had conveyed everything that he needed to.

"What is your childe's name?" Julian asked, as Stefano opened the door and walked into the hall. The question reminded Stefano of the one glaring omission in the conversation. He wondered how he could have committed such a major oversight.

"Basil Romanov," Stefano answered as he walked down the hall and toward the front door.

Julian simply sat in his chair, unable to move a muscle at the mention of the name. "Basil the Butcher?" he muttered to himself. Perhaps the calm that had settled over the city was not yet a return to normalcy, but rather the calm before the storm. As he sat in his chair, Julian hoped to Caine that the Brujah in his city were not familiar with the stories of Basil Romanov.

****

IV

Far from the distress that Julian Luna was feeling, Patrick Collins leaned back in the leather armchair that sat in his study in the Tremere chantry of San Francisco. For over a year he had had to make due with only two Tremere in the city, and besides him the other was an initiate that did not yet have full status in either his clan or the kindred world in general. Tonight, that would all change. Patrick had finally convinced his superiors that the position of the Tremere clan in the city was no longer unstable, and that additions to their numbers could bring great benefits to the entire clan. He would now have a full circle of seven serving below him. The fact that a full cabal of Tremere was being situated in San Francisco was indicative of the hopes that the elders had for the city.

Patrick was definitely noticed in the hierarchy of the clan. He had made a great name for himself with the destruction of Sandra, the Tremere antitribu that had run with the Sabbat that had invaded San Francisco. He had also managed to keep Julian Luna completely off balance in the succeeding months. The Ventrue prince was certain that Patrick was intent on taking his city, and in that belief he was, of course, correct. However, he was baffled by the apparent lack of initiative that the Tremere primogen had shown. Julian Luna had allowed himself to become complacent, and the time was now right to begin a move against him.

The signs were so obvious to Collins that he found it difficult to believe that Julian did not see them. First of all, Patrick had managed to keep Lillie on the shit list of every kindred in the city. This greatly reduced the influence of the Toreador clan. Then he had advanced over three million dollars in investment capital to Rayce, who used the money to buy out some of Lillie's clubs on the coast. Not only had this earned the Tremere a nice return in interest payments by the Brujah, but it also aided in putting the Toreador clan in greater trouble. Soon, the Toreador would have their backs against a wall, and Lillie would attempt to fight her way out of the situation. The ensuing melee would offer Patrick the chance to challenge for the seat of the prince.

Of course, the Tremere primogen realized that almost anything could go wrong with his plan to start a war between the Toreador and Brujah, so he had caused some irritation in other quarters of the kindred community as well. He was always quick to point out that the Brujah were becoming more and more capable of defending themselves and the city. This, of course, cut away at the purpose for the Telemon clan even being in San Francisco. While Patrick knew that Julian was far from displacing the Telemon in favor of using Brujah enforcers, he knew nonetheless that this prospect was a constant fear of Matt's. The only reason the Telemon clan enjoyed safety within the Bay Area was that they helped Julian defend his city while he stabilized his power. Once he felt secure again, the future of the diablerizing clan would come into serious question. Patrick just hoped that it would be possible to ouster the Telemon quietly when the time finally came to take action.

A knock at the door notified Patrick Collins that the other members of his clan had arrived. "Come in," he said softly, knowing that his kindred colleagues had heightened senses that would hear his voice through the thick oak door. The door immediately opened, and Patrick saw seven well-dressed men enter his study. The only one whose identity he knew was Douglas Hart, his own childe, although he knew of the reputation of all of the others. He simply needed a face to match each of the names. Patrick motioned for them all to sit down in one of the chairs he had arranged around a small table, and shortly after they were seated, he joined them.

"As you are probably well aware, my name is Patrick Collins," the Tremere primogen started, looking over each of his clanmates intently as he spoke. "I would greatly appreciate it if you could each introduce yourselves."

The man immediately to his right spoke first. "My name is Stephen Jackson," he said with an air of deference to Patrick. He apparently was well aware of his place in the strictly hierarchical Tremere clan. Patrick knew more about Stephen than he did about any other of the kindred that had been sent to him. Stephen had at one time been the primogen of the Tremere in Flagstaff, but had left the city after defeating a Sabbat siege. The rumors were that the elders of the clan had believed many of Stephen's tactics to be reckless and overly violent. They did not care for the image that he presented of the clan. As a result, Stephen had been sent to San Francisco, to learn patience and subtlety from Patrick. Additionally, Patrick suspected that the elders were dissatisfied with his own reluctance to take direct action against Julian Luna. They had probably hoped that while Stephen learned restraint, Patrick would learn assertiveness. Patrick realized that if this suspicion were true, he would have to perform extremely well over the coming months or risk reassignment.

"My name is Mario Cabrezzi," the next man around the table said. Patrick knew that Mario was Stephen's first, and favorite, childe. He also knew that Mario had completely devoted his time to the study of the Tremere blood magic of Thaumaturgy. He was accomplished in no area other than this clan discipline, although in that realm he was regarded as being a prodigy.

Patrick heard the next three give their names as well – William Hawkins, Phineas O'Rourke, and Adam Stewart. Patrick knew little of any of these kindred, save that they were all childer of Stephen's. He also knew that they had some degree of combat experience, having fought the Sabbat in Flagstaff, but as to anything else, he was at a loss. Patrick made a mental note to have Douglas get to know these other Tremere, so that he could come to know what abilities they brought to the table. He wanted to be able to make the most efficient use of his resources.

"My name is Philip Hoi," the last man said. Patrick stopped himself quickly from betraying any reaction, as he had been expecting someone else. Robert Preston was supposed to be the last member of the circle of seven, and he felt uncomfortable at the change in membership. "I know that you were not informed that I would be coming into the city," Philip said, seemingly reading Patrick's mind. "It was a last minute decision, and the elders did not have a chance to notify you."

"It is no matter," Patrick responded, not betraying any of the confusion he felt. He knew that he needed to appear completely calm and confident, as each of these men would need to develop a respect for his authority. Collins quickly went through the long list of names he knew, desperately trying to remember anything about Philip Hoi. He was unable to, and decided that he would have to look into the background of his subordinate at a later time.

"I know you would probably all like to get settled in," Patrick commented, "but I am sure that Julian Luna would absolutely love to meet all of you. I'll call him and have him meet us at The Haven. It's a local club owned by the Toreador primogen, and which is used by the prince for social occasions." Patrick rose and grabbed his sword from the coat rack, concealing it under the cloak that he placed on his shoulders. "On the way, I'll fill you in on the identities of some of the more important kindred in the city." With that he walked toward the door, signifying that the introductions had come to an end.

****

V

Sasha slid from her Harley, helping Jenni also get off of the motorcycle. The young Brujah inhaled deeply, relishing the scent of the neighborhood that she had spent so much time in before Rayce's ascendance. There was actually not much unique about the air in this part of the city, but it somehow made her feel more at home. Jenni, typical of any child, was looking in every direction, taking in every aspect of her surroundings. As Sasha walked toward the door and into Chalkers, she felt Jenni move closer to her side, betraying some of her insecurity at being in a new place. Sasha let a small smile pass over her face. She knew it would not be long before Jenni would get comfortable here in this pool hall, and then she would be insisting that she should be allowed to come down here by herself. That was the way of things with girls her age.

Sasha looked over the large room full of pool tables. Her eyes immediately settled on seven boys in the back of the hall, joking loudly as they played pool on two adjoining tables. Sasha recognized a couple of them immediately as being members of the Rollers, a teenage motorcycle gang. They had all gotten a little older since the last time Sasha had seen them, but she knew that they were the same people. Now in their late teens, they would all be a little stronger than they had been the last time Sasha had seen them. About a year before, Sasha, Rica, Bottle Rocket, and Mark had beaten the piss out of these same kids in a fight over rights to Chalkers. As far as Sasha had known, the Rollers had not been seen around since. Apparently, they had taken advantage of the Brujahs' extended absence and moved back in, once again claiming the pool hall as part of their territory.

Only a few brief seconds after Sasha had noticed them, one of the Rollers caught sight of her with Jenni. He grinned and pointed her out to his friends, and they all put their cue sticks down and started to walk over. Sasha looked down at Jenni protectively, weighing the situation. While it was true that she was a vampire, and stronger than any of the mortals coming towards her, she knew that she would stand no chance against them if they decided to get violent, seeking retribution for their earlier humiliation. There were just too many of them for Sasha to even consider standing up to them.

"Jenni, go out to the bike," Sasha said, gently pushing Jenni toward the door.

"No, I'm staying," Jenni replied, glaring at the seven boys coming toward them. Sasha realized that her young friend was apparently aware of the situation, but like all teens, did not fully understand the danger of her predicament.

"Let's get going," Sasha said, deciding that discretion was the better part of valor. She would join Jenni in leaving this place. Perhaps she would be able to find Mark and have him help her in beating down a few of the punks.

"No," Jenni repeated. Sasha looked down and saw Jenni reach into her pocket. A moment later, she was able to catch a small flash of silver in the girl's hand. Sasha realized that Jenni had drawn a knife, and would probably be stupid enough to use it.

"Well, we didn't think we'd ever see you back around here," one of the boys said as the group reached Sasha and Jenni, a few feet from the door. The group of them slowly surrounding the two kindred, making Sasha feel rather uneasy. "Personally, I thought you'd be smarter than that."

"Get lost, Danny," Sasha replied evenly, hoping to be able to bluff her way out of the situation. She remembered Danny as one of the ones that they had beaten so badly the previous year, and hoped that she could put the fear in him that it could very well happen again. "I'm sure you'd hate to get your ass kicked by a woman again."

"What, you and the girl?" Danny asked, motioning toward Jenni. "I'm shaking."

"You should be, asshole." Sasha looked over to her left to see who had made the comment, and saw a group of at least half a dozen girls gathering behind Jenni. The one who had made the comment stood about five and a half feet tall, had dyed blue hair, and was dressed in black, with a black biker jacket. "So are you guys going to make something out of this, or would you like to keep to keep your teeth where they are?"

Danny simply looked at the girl standing before him, hardly believing that she dared to challenge him. He started counting off how many girls stood against him, and figured that with Sasha, there were probably about ten. Ten teenage girls stood no chance against seven teenage guys, and he knew it. The only thing they could hope for was that his friends would hesitate to hit a woman. That would not be an issue, though, since all of his friends had seen Sasha work guys over at some point in the past few years. She did not have a reputation as being the gentlest of people.

"So let's see what you got," Danny said, gesturing to all of the girls around him. He led his friends out front, down a nearby alley, and around to the back of the building. Sasha followed, instructing Jenni to stand by the Harley, ostensibly to prevent anyone from messing with it while she was fighting. As she walked around the building, she walked up to the blue-haired girl who had gotten herself involved in this disagreement. As Sasha approached her, she noticed that there was a pair of pink butterfly wings attached to the back of the leather jacket that the girl wore. Wondering if it was some kind of gang thing, Sasha looked quickly at the other girls in the group, and saw that they did not share the not-too-stylish appendages.

"Hi, I'm Sasha," the Brujah said as she reached the girl.

"What clan?" the girl responded.

"What?" Sasha asked, initially surprised that the girl had known she was kindred. Sasha initially feigned ignorance, however, careful to not prematurely give away her identity as kindred.

"My name's Butterfly," the girl answered. "I'm Brujah, as are all of my friends. They're my brood. We call ourselves the Nightshades." She looked Sasha over for any response. "We can be deadly," she added with a grin as they reached the back of the building.

With everyone gathered together in the open, Sasha could see that Butterfly led nine other girls into the fight, which gave them an eleven to seven edge. This would not take long at all, Sasha thought. Before settling in to fight, she turned quickly to Butterfly. "I'm Brujah, too."

"I figured as much, Butterfly answered. "Ventrue might go into a pool hall that nice, but they wouldn't know the kind of people you immediately got a reaction from." She then lunged immediately at Danny, and a moment later the other girls in her group had also jumped into the fray. It was over so quickly that Sasha barely had time to hit one of the Rollers before he was unconscious.

"Thanks," Sasha said to the girls around her. As several of them fed a slight bit from their defeated opponents, Butterfly simply looked at Sasha and smiled quickly.

"We're Brujah, and you're Brujah," she said, as if that should explain everything. "We stick together. Always have, always will."

"So you get into town tonight?" Sasha asked as they all started walking toward the front of Chalkers again.

"No, we've been in San Francisco for about a week now," Butterfly responded.

"You haven't said anything to the prince, have you?" Sasha asked, knowing that she had not heard anything about any Brujah presenting themselves to Julian. If Julian found out about the Nightshades, he would consider them Brujah anarchs and have them executed by clan Telemon.

"We don't usually bother with formalities," Butterfly replied nonchalantly. "Princes don't usually expect Brujah to report their comings and goings."

"Julian Luna does," Sasha replied quickly. "If you stay in the city without presenting yourself, he'll have you executed."

"That's a little strict," another girl commented, coming over to join the conversation.

"He afraid of San Francisco becoming the next anarch free state?" Butterfly asked with a grin. She did not even have to wait for a response from Sasha to know that this was indeed the case. "Well, I guess we'd better present ourselves, huh?" Butterfly added quickly.

"It's already starting to get late," another one of her gang interjected. "Let's just do it first thing tomorrow night."

"Alright," Sasha replied, "I guess that'll be good enough. I have another idea, though. You have wheels?" Butterfly nodded her head in the direction of a row of Harley Davidson motorcycles, a grin slipping across her lips. "Then follow me," Sasha said quickly, jumping on her bike and starting it up. She took a quick moment to make sure that Jenni was on safely, and then sped off down the street, followed by Butterfly's gang.

As they sped away, a pair of eyes watched from the roof of Chalkers. Things had just gotten significantly more complicated.

****

VI

Matt Reimer sat at the dinner table across from Magnus Horzbach, the recently appeared older brother of Matt's sire, Johnny Yashida. Magnus had apparently been the first childe of Siras Telemon, the founder of clan Telemon, but no one had been made aware of the fact until recently. Any doubts that Matt had originally held as to Magnus' lineage had been put to rest months ago. In a show of strength worthy of a Telemon, the mysterious kindred had stood toe to toe with a werewolf and survived the encounter. Of course, Magnus had been incapacitated as thoroughly as the lupine had been, but he had survived, nonetheless. Such a feat was not to be taken lightly. After that battle, Matt had taken all of Magnus' advice more seriously. Indeed, his 'uncle' had the benefit of decades of experience, and was willing to share it with the young primogen of the Telemon clan in San Francisco.

The advice had become necessary for Matt, as he had lost some of his confidence in himself after the death of his sire. Johnny had been killed in a battle with a Templar of the invading Sabbat bishop. While it was true that Yashida had practically never spent any time in San Francisco, he had always had a knack for showing up when he was needed. That was a safety net that Matt had originally had trouble getting used to living without. With the arrival of Magnus, an even more experienced, and perhaps devious, kindred, Matt was once again given a safety net. He always had access to someone who could help him cut through the politics of the kindred community.

"You are aware of your current position, yes?" Magnus asked in his German accent, apparently able to read into Matt's thoughts.

"I think so," Matt responded gravely. He had just been informed of the arrival of the new members of the Tremere clan. They had added six new kindred to their chantry, completing a full circle of seven, each member serving under the primogen of the clan in the city. Matt did not even pretend to know much about the Tremere, but he was certain that this development did not bode well for the position of his own clan.

"How exactly do you see everything, student?" Magnus asked.

"Well," Matt began, "I think we're definitely at risk of losing status. There are no wars to fight, and no one has come into the city looking to start any. That means Luna has no use for soldiers. If he needs enforcers, he can go to the Brujah now, although I admit it's unlikely. Rayce did an excellent job of repopulating not only with academics, but with some real ass-kickers. They could give some of us a run for the money.

"The Tremere are older and therefore larger than we are, and they have far more contacts. Patrick was never thrilled with us in the first place. To say the Tremere have never been that fond of diabolists, despite their own history, is an understatement of epic proportions. Julian does not care for that aspect of our clan too much, either."

"But you have only diablerized once, and that was before you were informed that it was against kindred law," Magnus replied slowly. "Also, you forbade any of your progeny to diablerize, and you have worked hard to help Luna hold his power here. How do you analyze that?"

"That's what we did for Luna yesterday," Matt answered. "I think Luna is always looking at what's been done for him today." Matt spoke the thoughts that everyone in the city had begun to think about the prince. Since the death of Caitlin, Julian had been regarded as reverting to the cold, efficient administrator that he had been when Archon had still been alive.

"Yes," Magnus replied, nodding his head. "I would, of course, agree." The old German was becoming more and more confident in Matt's ability to lead the clan. Reimer was able to see through the false alliances of the kindred world and get right to the heart of the matter. In this situation, the heart of the matter was that Clan Telemon was becoming more expendable every day. They now potentially posed almost as large a threat to the prince as they had a support in earlier times. They were warriors without a war to fight. Through history, this had proved to be a dangerous situation for the individual that ruled over the soldiers.

The Brujah clan, by becoming organized, was able to offer all of the services that were once the exclusive purview of the Telemon. Indeed, with the embrace of Simon Jones, commonly called the Templar, the Brujah had acquired one of the most efficient assassins in the history of the American intelligence community. He was an excellent asset for the Brujah. There was still the fact that Julian would probably never ask the Brujah for help, and if he did, the price for aid was certain to be high. However, if there was again the issue of an event like a garou or Sabbat invasion, the Brujah now had soldiers to fight off the assault.

The Telemon, like the Brujah, had embraced a couple of new childer, but they were more of the same – another Ranger and another SEAL. Magnus now looked at Matt, wondering if the young primogen realized what the clan would now have to do. They would probably have to slowly evolve themselves to adapt to this new situation, or they would have to leave San Francisco and head back east. On the East Coast the Telemon would once again be able to fill a niche in the kindred community – they could be the soldiers of the princes against the Sabbat.

"I really don't like the way things are getting," Matt said, confirming Magnus' suspicions. The primogen seemed to understand the situation all too well.

"Let us be patient," Magnus replied. "We can increase our numbers, and hope that a conflict breaks out. Then we can once again prove our usefulness to the prince."

"I hate waiting," Matt replied, echoing the sentiment of every soldier in his situation. "I guess there's nothing else to do though, is there?"

****

VII

Julian Luna sat in the Haven, gazing with a slight sense of longing at the glass of red wine in front of him. While he had been able to develop an ability to imbibe very small amounts of mortal drink without immediately retching, he was far from able to drink the second glass that had been brought to his table. As he sat alone, he found himself thinking once more of Caitlin Byrne. It had been over a year since she had been embraced by the Sabbat, and later killed by Julian as he defended his city from the invaders. He often found himself pondering those events as he was now. How could he have been so blind to the risk that he had exposed Caitlin to? How could he have been so arrogant as to believe he could protect her from any danger? How could he have extinguished her with such ease?

It was the last question that troubled Julian most of all. He had spent decades trying to get past the violence and cruelty that had been the hallmark of his existence for the first half a century as a vampire. Even beyond that time, he had been called upon to act as Archon's executioner, but with less frequency. When he had leveled the shotgun at Caitlin and pulled the trigger, it had been done without much hesitation. The words of his sire suddenly came back to him. "You may not feel that you are qualified to be prince, Julian, and right now you may indeed not be. However, there will come a time that your city will be more important to you than anything else in life. Then you will be a true prince, and the other kindred of the city will realize it. Then they will truly fear you."

Those words had been spoken only a few short years ago, as Julian had considered leaving the city with Caitlin for a weekend. As a result of his actions, Archon had been left alone and killed, and Julian had almost joined him in oblivion. At that time, Caitlin had been the most important thing in Julian's life. Now, he had advanced beyond that. Now his city was all that mattered, and he would never again let it be placed in jeopardy. Julian Luna felt the lust for power and influence that was the driving force for the existence for all Ventrue, and knew that he would never feel much compulsion to avoid this innate desire ever again. He was truly Archon's childe.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Patrick Collins, whose presence Julian immediately noticed as the Tremere descended the staircase. Not surprisingly, the Tremere primogen had the kindred power to increase his charisma and aura of power and influence, and the use of this ability drew the desired attention. Julian also immediately noticed that Patrick was followed by seven other men, all dressed in fine black suits. The prince then knew instantly why the Tremere primogen had requested this meeting. He wished to present a group of new Tremere, and ask permission for them to enter Julian's domain. Things had just gone from undesirable to extremely unpleasant.

"Julian, it is wonderful to see you this evening," Patrick said with a wide smile as he walked up to the prince's table. "I'm grateful to you for coming out to meet us on such short notice." Patrick looked Julian over for a brief moment, searching for any sign that the prince was at all unnerved by the situation. To his disappointment, and indeed surprise, Patrick only saw a slight look of irritation cross Julian's face.

"What do you wish to speak about?" Julian asked evenly, looking over each of Patrick's associates.

"I wish to present several new members of my clan," Patrick responded. He gestured to each of the newcomers as he introduced them, ending with Philip Hoi. At the mention of the last Tremere's name, Julian gave a slight reaction that betrayed the fact that he had heard of Philip Hoi before. However, the prince did not pursue the issue at all, so Patrick decided to also leave well enough alone, at least for the time being. Patrick then turned to Douglas. "Finally, Julian, this is Douglas Hart, my childe. I wish to present him to you as being fully prepared for entrance into the kindred world."

"I accept him into our world, with all of the privileges and responsibilities that this new status will bring him," Julian replied, almost absently. Silently, he wondered what was going on. The Tremere were known to spend several years, sometimes even decades, preparing their initiates for presentation to the prince. This action was generally not taken until the childe was considered to be a worthy member of the Tremere clan. Julian knew for a fact that Douglas had been embraced little over a year earlier, and by no stretch of the imagination could be considered as worthy as Patrick was when he had been presented. From what Julian had heard, Patrick had spent over twenty years studying at the feet of his sire. The fact that Douglas' education had been cut short did not sit well with Julian Luna. However, he turned back to the other Tremere, knowing that he had to dispense with the formalities as far as they were concerned, as well. "You are all, of course, welcomed into my city. Be sure to follow the Traditions of the Camarilla, as well as all of the Commandments that I have set forth for the kindred within my territory. Behave properly, and you may stay as long as you like. I trust I make myself clear."

Julian then dismissed the entire group of Tremere with a wave, a gesture of dismissal that did not sit well with Patrick. However, he had recently seen a change in the prince's demeanor, and did not wish to cause problems with so trivial an objection. He would instead bide his time, waiting for the most opportune moment to strike at Julian Luna's position.

****

VIII

Thorne typed quickly into his computer, creating a new file for Douglas Hart. The young Tremere had just been introduced to Julian Luna, and was now considered a member of kindred society. As such, he was also worthy of some watching by the old kindred. As Thorne typed, he also wondered what had driven Patrick to release his childe so early. The only reason that Thorne could ascertain for the decision was that Douglas had already seen some action against the Sabbat. By proving his mettle and loyalty in battle, he may have been able to convince Patrick that he was worthy of full status within the clan. Still, though, there seemed to be something not quite right about the decision. The old kindred made a note of Douglas' short tenure as a student, and decided he would think about that particular problem later on. There were, after all, far greater things going on at the time.

Thorne abandoned his work on Douglas Hart's entry and quickly started to go through the files that he had archived on his computer. He knew exactly where he had been keeping the information that he was searching for. A thin smile stretched the old kindred's lips slightly as he gazed down at the screen, viewing a file that he had come to know so well over the years. He typed in the location field for his subject, and started to ponder what could soon come to be.

Name: Basil "The Butcher" RomanovFile #: 09477

Clan: VentrueLocation: Oakland

Embrace: c. 1100-1200Last Update: 2-13-98

Sire: Stefano PrateraFile #: 07562

Grandsire: Marie RositaFile #: 04231

Displayed Disciplines: Ventrue, plus Celerity, Protean, Potence

Rating: 94.43

Notable Victories:

Callius Moren (File # 00133): Brujah Elder (1348)

Piotr Stroinenko: Brujah Elder (diablerized) (1348)

Raul De Gaulle: Brujah Elder (1348)

Katherine De Licci: Brujah Elder (diablerized) (1348)

Martin De Tours: Brujah Elder (1349)

Thomas Gallante: Inquisitor Mage (1349)

Paul Sutherland: Garou (1349)

Marietta Solomon: Brujah Elder (1349)

Charles De Orleans: Brujah Elder (1349)

Brian Mordock: Brujah Elder (1350)

Ricardo Boehm: Brujah Elder (1350)

Hanibaal Letos: Brujah Elder (1350)

Conroy Haviland: Brujah Justicar (1642)

Roger Stokes: Toreador Justicar (1642)

Samuel Martin: Malkavian Justicar (1642)

Ahman Karohai: Assamite Assassin (1643)

Maxwell Hartshorne: Brujah Elder (1847)

Shira Cassarda: Salubri Elder (1901)

Reginald von Gornan: Brujah Elder (Inconnu) (1937)

Desired Confrontations:

Tremere Elder

Forces Master Mage

Me

Thorne had indeed waited a long time for this moment. While he generally despised the thought of becoming involved in the violence of kindred society, preferring to manipulate from the background, he was barely able to contain his enthusiasm. He had waited over three hundred years to find Basil Romanov. The old Ventrue was always at least one step ahead of him, and Thorne arrived at the scenes of the Ventrue's slaughters too late to take any action in gaining vengeance. This time, of course, it would be different. Over six hundred years earlier, Basil had staked out Thorne's blood brother, hanging him by his neck from a tree and leaving him for the morning sun. Unfortunately for Basil, the memories of some kindred could be very long. Enemies could come for revenge for a crime that had been committed centuries earlier.

As he pondered exactly how he would go about destroying Stefano Pratera's childe, a wicked smile broadened across the old kindred's face. Of course, he realized suddenly, there would be someone else in the city that would be all too eager to take a shot at Basil Romanov. It seemed that Thorne might be forced to take a number to get his opportunity to destroy this particularly hated individual. The question, though, was whether Basil's other enemy up to the task?

****

IX

Julian sat alone in his study, reading through Plato's Republic as he waited for the last hour of darkness to pass away. Many things had happened during the night, and he had a lot to sort out in his mind. Still, he felt the need to avoid some of the stress that his position inflicted on him, and instead find a release from analyzing his situation. Reading helped him avoid thoughts of the harsh realities he constantly needed to face.

Just as Julian began to sink into the leather of his armchair and get truly comfortable, however, he suddenly felt a sense of dread quickly overcoming him. He turned quickly to see Johnny Yashida standing in the corner of the study, his body hardly discernible in the shadows cast by the flames from Julian's fireplace. Julian noticed almost immediately that around the Telemon, the shadows ceased to dance along the wall, but instead remained motionless, leaving a swath of darkness that was ideal for concealment. Rather than leap from his chair and draw his .45, Julian sat still in front of the fireplace. He closed the book and laid it down on his lap, seemingly not at all intimidated by Yashida's presence. Despite his calm demeanor, though, Julian was on the verge of panic. He had no idea how the Telemon could have broken through his security, and he realized well that Johnny could probably have killed him had he wanted to. The fact that Yashida had not taken any action against the prince was the only thing that kept Julian's distress at bay.

Johnny seemed to grin as Julian caught sight of him, and walked from the concealing shadows and across the room. As he approached, the prince felt another wave of uneasiness pass over him, and realized immediately what the cause of this anxiety was. Beyond the fact that Johnny had been able to enter the prince's home seemingly at will, his very presence seemed to be an omen of things to come.

During each of Johnny Yashida's previous two visits, all hell had broken loose in the city. When Yashida had first come to San Francisco, it had been during the time of the attack of the garou. His second visit had been to warn his childe, the city's primogen of the Telemon clan, that the Sabbat was laying siege to the city. Both times had led to widespread carnage within the kindred community, and would not be quickly forgotten. Julian considered that he knew the feeling that Ramses had experienced when Moses continually came into his court, his appearance signaling the coming of another great plague.

Julian also felt yet another reason for his unease, though this was less tangible. Johnny walked differently, seeming surer of himself than he had ever been. For the first time, Julian was able to see a similarity between Johnny Yashida and his childe, Matt Reimer. Never before had Johnny seemed to convey the strength and confidence of the Telemon clan. Julian straightened his back and looked at his visitor with interest as he approached.

"Do you mind if I sit down?" Johnny asked, gesturing to the matching leather chair that sat facing Julian's.

"Go ahead," the prince replied politely. He looked Johnny over, noting the expensive suit that the Telemon was wearing. He had apparently been doing very well for himself. "I heard that you were dead," Julian commented offhandedly. "I guess that information was in error." He waited for any kind of explanation from Yashida, but seeing none forthcoming, the prince continued. "What are you doing here?" Julian asked, getting to the point quickly, making sure he maintained control of any conversation that would take place in his own home.

"I wish to spend some time in your city," Johnny answered, showing no indication that he expected his request could be denied, despite his chosen method and place of presentation. Julian noted the confidence once again, but acknowledged that his conviction, at least in this matter, was well placed. Johnny had saved Sasha's life during the garou attack on the city, and that was not something that Julian would forget. He owed a debt to Johnny Yashida. The Telemon knew this.

"You are, of course, welcome," Julian replied without hesitation, hoping to continue to maintain the illusion that Johnny's entrance had not overly concerned him. "Is it just you?"

"No," Johnny replied with a slight gesture of his hand. "Michelle is with me again. I believe you met her last time I was here." There was a slight sense of dread in the words that Yashida spoke, as if he was well aware of the thoughts that had entered Julian's head when he had approached. Johnny did not want to overtly say it, but he wanted to let Julian know that this was not a social visit. Julian did not miss the cue.

"What are you here for, Mr. Yashida?" Julian asked, maintaining a sense of formality to the discussion.

"Personal matters," Johnny replied evenly, making it clear that he did not wish to discuss the matter extensively. "There are some things pertaining to my clan that I need to look into. However, I would appreciate it if you do not tell anyone in my clan that I'm in town. The desire for secrecy is the reason for my invasion of your privacy. For that, I apologize. If I had come to you anywhere else, word would have gotten out that I was not only alive, but was here. That could have destroyed all of my plans." The Telemon seemed sincere in his apology, so Julian decided not to broach the topic of the intrusion.

"I'm not sure I follow you," Julian replied, trying to draw more information from his visitor.

"You do not need to," Johnny replied bluntly. "I am simply asking you to do me the favor of keeping my presence in San Francisco a secret, at least for now. I would not have even bothered to tell you of my presence, except for the fact that I feel kindred law must be obeyed. Therefore, I present myself." Again, Julian noted the sincerity. The prince found it hard to not view his 'guest' with some measure of respect, despite Johnny's intrusion.

"Very well, Mr. Yashida," Julian replied. He was unable to figure out why he was agreeing to Johnny's requests, but he was willing to allow a little latitude to the Telemon. It had, after all, been Yashida that had brought news of the Sabbat. Without warning, the whole city's population of kindred might have been wiped out. "However, I do have one condition," Julian added.

"What?" Johnny asked, his tone indicating that he would be willing to consider the prince's condition, but that Julian's requests were not to be automatically granted. Julian noted that Yashida's attitude seemed almost to border on arrogance

"Is there something going on that could endanger my hold on the city?" Julian asked, not seeming as concerned as the words would lead one to expect he actually was. "Your presence has usually been a harbinger of things to come, and those things have not been pleasant."

"Let me put it this way," Yashida replied. "I have my concerns about things in this city, but if all goes well, there shouldn't be too much of a problem." Johnny seemed to consider for something for a minute, and then added one last tidbit. "Just keep an eye on Sasha," he added with a slight smile.

"What do you mean?" Julian asked quickly. "Is she in danger?"

"Is who in danger?" Lillie asked from the doorway. Julian looked to the doorway quickly, surprised at the Toreador's entrance. He looked back to Johnny, and found the seat that the Telemon had been sitting in to be empty. He realized immediately that with the back of Johnny's chair facing the doorway, Lillie was probably unaware that the Telemon had even been in the room. Indeed, that he was probably in the room, still. "Who are you talking to?" Lillie asked as she walked further in, founding the chair across from Julian empty.

"I was just thinking out loud," Julian replied. "I have a lot on my mind."

"I can ease all of that," Lillie replied as she walked behind Julian's chair and began to rub his shoulders. She did not reveal the fact that she was certain there had been two voices in the room just moments before. She used her abilities to look at auras to scan the room, knowing that even the ability to make oneself invisible to the naked eye would not conceal one's aura. However, she was unable to find anyone, and was left with a small mystery to ponder.

CHAPTER 2

****

I

K.T. Corben and his companion sat silently in the Haven, scanning the mixed crowd that was enjoying the establishment. He smiled, knowing that a small percentage of the patrons were vampires, and that this club was one of the prime hunting grounds in the city. It was declared Elysium, a place of peace where no kindred was able to fight another. Here all kindred would be safe to feed as they wished. K.T. had come to meet Julian Luna, the prince of the city, and to present himself for entrance. For an hour he had watched Julian sitting alone, apparently waiting for someone. K.T. had no desire to be interrupted with a previously arranged meeting, and so he waited for his opportunity to introduce himself. Timing was crucial when one wished to make a good first impression. K.T. looked to his friend, Erica Blackwell, knowing that she would have laughed if he had spoken aloud the thoughts that were going through his head. Before he had met her, he had not cared, or even had the vaguest idea, how to make a good first impression. She had patiently instructed him in many of the social virtues.

K.T. heard a slight disturbance at the top of the stairs leading down into the club, and diverted his attention to the entrance. Out of habit, he lowered his hand to the Ruger that he always carried concealed on his person. A moment later Sasha entered, leading Butterfly and the Nightshades into the Haven with an air of confidence that had not been seen in her since before her embrace. For the first time since becoming one of the kindred, Sasha truly felt as if she had a place within the vampire society of San Francisco. In one night of carousing with Butterfly, she had been put more at ease than any of Julian's support had allowed, more than any of Cash's tenderness had permitted, or any of the crime sprees with her earlier clanmates ever provided for. She was beginning to understand what it was to be Brujah and the freedom she felt was euphoric. K.T. slowly lowered his head as the group entered, making certain that none of them saw him. The last thing he needed was to be recognized.

As Sasha came off of the stairs with her new friends, she immediately noticed Julian sitting in his usual booth. She quickly checked her watch to make certain that it was not yet nine o'clock, and shrugged as the early hour was confirmed. She could not remember Julian ever arriving at the Haven before eleven, except in the rare instances that he had business to conduct. With a smile she realized that she had probably hit on the truth – he was here for a meeting. She wondered how he would take to being interrupted by Brujah anarchs. She quickly relayed her assumptions to Butterfly, and the group decided to wait at a couple of nearby tables before introducing themselves. That way they might be able to cause an uncomfortable interruption, which they felt would be fun. K.T. looked the entire group over, and noticed that Luna was doing the same. Neither of the men rose from his seat, however. Each knew the value of examining a potential foe before approaching.

The Nightshades did not have to wait long to have their suspicions confirmed. Within ten minutes, three well-dressed men entered the club, all wearing dark gray suits. Two of them were obviously armed, and Butterfly assumed that the third one, walking in the middle, would be as well. Obviously, the middle man was rather important, as he traveled with two kindred bodyguards. Basil Romanov walked up to Julian Luna's table and nodded briefly, introducing his two guards, Calloway and Spinno. Julian looked over the bodyguards quickly, knowing that in this setting they were used more for decoration than for actual defense. As the Haven was Elysium, fighting between kindred would be illegal. Violation of that edict would be cause for final death.

Julian gave considerably greater attention to Basil. The prince could immediately see why this man was so greatly feared by many of the older Brujah. He stood almost six and a half feet tall, which would have made him a giant during the middle ages, when he had committed most of his depredations against the Brujah. His shoulders seemed to be almost impossibly wide, and even through his suit it was difficult not to recognize the heavy musculature that covered his frame. Julian realized that Basil must have been one of the greatest warriors of his day even before his embrace, as he found it hard to imagine any mortal being able to stand toe to toe with this individual.

Basil's somewhat pale face was covered with a thick brown stubble, and shoulder-length curly brown hair covered his head. Unlike many men of modern times, he seemed unwilling to pull his hair back into a ponytail, which would have given him a more refined appearance. He seemed to wish to expose some of his roughness in his looks. His eyes were an unremarkable brown, but seemed set in a gaze that began to immediately unnerve Julian as he looked into them. The carnage that the man had seen over the years seemed indelibly etched in his dour expression, completing the picture of a truly powerful individual. Never before had Julian felt himself to be in the presence of so strong a man.

"Your sire informed me that you will be staying in San Francisco for a couple of months," Julian said, starting up the conversation. He had been reluctant to allow a possible challenger for power come into his city, but in the end Stefano had been quite persuasive. Not only had he pointed out that Basil would need to get to know the area and many of the powerful mortals that lived within it, there was also the matter of Aegis Securities. Aegis was a corporation that Julian had invested heavily in. However, the company had recently become dangerously leveraged as it devoted all of its resources to research and development of new security systems. It had thus been placed in a perilous financial situation. Stefano had heavily implied that he would use his OptiTech Corporation to destroy Aegis if Julian did not allow Basil to stay within his city for a short time. As the loss of Aegis would have cost Julian over $100 million, he had relented. However, he now was well aware of just how much stock Stefano placed in loyalty to one's bloodline. Julian would not be as willing to help his grandsire in the future, and he would certainly dispel Basil from San Francisco at the earliest opportunity. Until that became possible, though, he had to bide his time. He knew that he would eventually be given the chance he desired.

"I do not wish to be here for any longer than six weeks," Basil replied, not hiding his lack of pleasure in the situation. "Stefano wants me to stay here and learn the ropes. I feel that is unnecessary. If I have to rule over the accursed city of Oakland, I might as well get it over with now."

"You don't want the city?" Julian asked, suddenly intrigued by his distant relative.

"Not particularly," Basil answered. "I have no desire to be prince of any city. I think it's a waste of time, a position only suitable for those with an inferiority complex, the people that feel they constantly have to prove their worth to those around them." If Basil was aware of the fact that he had insulted his host, he betrayed no sign of the fact. Instead, he leaned back in the booth and withdrew a cigar. Julian looked on in stunned silence as Basil lit it, seemingly unfazed by the fact that a flame was mere inches from his face.

"So you are only doing this as a favor to your sire?" Julian asked. The possibility suddenly seemed great that Basil would be no threat at all to Julian's hold on San Francisco, which had initially been the one thing that the prince had been concerned about.

"Not really a favor," Basil answered with a puff of his cigar. "I will be well paid for this inconvenience. Besides, there may still be some Brujah anarchs in Oakland. Extinguishing those animals should be reason enough."

"I heard they left," Julian commented, looking for information that had somehow eluded him thus far. "Do you know what happened?" The mysterious emigration of all anarchs from Oakland had initially been of some concern to San Francisco's prince, but he had quickly come to realize that he should not worry too much about something he had been waiting so long for. Lately, he considered the topic a simple matter of his unsatisfied curiosity.

"I'm sorry," Basil replied curtly. "Perhaps you've confused me with someone who gives a rat's ass. All I know is that they were there, and now they're gone. I don't care where they went, or why. So why don't we just cut the small talk and get to something important? Why don't you start by telling me who the most important players in this town are?"

Julian was barely able to restrain himself. The one thing that held him back from ripping off Basil's head was the almost certain knowledge that Basil could kill him with little effort. For the first time in his life, Julian felt completely outclassed. He was suddenly aware of what it was about the elders that held the princes at bay in their attempts to gain greater influence within the Camarilla. From the corner of his eye Julian felt the approach of several people, and was relieved to see Sasha approaching with the newcomers with whom she had been sitting.

Sasha immediately realized that rather than being annoyed with her interruption, Julian actually appeared grateful to have the excuse to avoid his present conversation. Butterfly noticed the prince's reaction as well, and cursed their luck at not having come over just a few moments sooner. Then they may have achieved the desired effect.

"Uncle Julian," Sasha said with a smile, "I want to introduce you to my new friends." She looked back at the Nightshades, and then again at the prince. "This is Butterfly," she commented, gesturing to the group's leader.

"It's nice to meet you," Julian said congenially. "What do you want?"

"Most of all, I guess I want a tank," Butterfly replied with a sly grin, "but entrance into your fine city would do for now." The anarch leader looked to her friends, all of whom smiled in approval of Butterfly's obvious lack of respect for the prince.

"All of you?" Julian asked, looking over the group of ten women in front of him. If ten new vampires entered the city, it could begin to put a strain on the mortal population's ability to provide a food source. With so many feeding, the Masquerade could be endangered. "I don't know if that would be such a good idea," he replied, knowing that Sasha would almost certainly be disappointed if he were to deny these newcomers entrance into his city.

"We won't be here for very long," Butterfly replied. "I know you're probably worried about our feeding, but we're very discreet. We will all follow the edict of the Masquerade." She chose her words well, having been coached by Sasha for this conversation. Her ability to immediately answer the prince's fears did not go unrewarded, as his expression slowly changed.

"What clan are you?" Julian asked, already suspecting the answer. Only members of one clan would look as these young kindred did, and begin their request for entrance by making reference to their wish for something as extraneous as armored military vehicles.

"We're Brujah," Butterfly answered proudly. "Each and every one of us."

"I have no problem with your presence," Julian said after a long moment's thought. Although he was uncomfortable with the presence of what appeared to be Brujah anarchs in his city, the fact remained that these women had had enough respect for the Traditions to present themselves before entering his domain. It was customary for the prince to allow access to all that asked, though it would not have been unheard of to do otherwise. He did wish to make sure they were all kept on a short leash though. "I want you all to make sure the Brujah primogen also knows that you're in town. He'd probably want to know about such a large contingent of his clan being in the city.

"The what?" Butterfly asked, unable to believe her ears. She had thought she heard the prince say 'primogen,' but she was certain that there would never be a Brujah primogen in a city, especially in California, where the Brujah had created the first anarch free states.

"The Brujah primogen," Julian repeated, confirming Butterfly's fears. "His name is Rayce. Sasha can introduce you."

"Yeah, sure," Butterfly replied, shocked into an inability to respond. Only once before had she seen a Brujah that had claimed the position of primogen, and that had been in a small city that was under siege by the Sabbat. In such a situation, having a centralized leader of the Brujah for a limited time was acceptable. Here, however, there was peace. There was absolutely no need for structure of the Brujah clan in San Francisco. Butterfly immediately decided to do something about the situation. She walked slowly away with Sasha and the Nightshades, leaving Julian to continue his discussion with Basil.

"Wait a few minutes for me," Sasha said with a grin to Butterfly. She then proceeded to run over to Cash, who had come out of a back room with Lana and Shelly, Cash's blood sister who had recently returned to San Francisco from St. Louis. Sasha embraced her Gangrel lover and started to immediately tell him all about her new friends.

Back at the prince's table, Basil shot mental daggers at the Brujah with his eyes. "Do you see what I mean?" he asked Julian. "They're animals. They can't even dress like normal people." He pointed immediately to the pink butterfly wings attached to the back of Butterfly's black leather jacket. "What the hell are those supposed to be, anyway? She looks like a goddamn freak." Julian just looked at the Brujah in silence, not caring to respond to Basil's comments. He had no desire to let Romanov know that there was indeed one thing on which they both agreed.

Butterfly waltzed up to the bar where Sasha and Cash were now talking, oblivious to the attention that the prince and Basil were giving her. "So, who the hell is this guy?" Butterfly asked Sasha. "He looks like he might be fun."

"My name's Cash," the Gangrel responded offhandedly. "So you guys are new in town, huh? Let me give you some advice – behave yourselves. The prince doesn't care for anarch troublemakers." Cash took an immediate distaste to Butterfly's gang. He had never known Brujah anarchs to behave themselves, and as a primogen in the city, he would inevitably be forced to deal with whatever chaos the Nightshades caused.

"What clan are you?" Butterfly asked, a uninterested look quickly coming across her face. She was beginning to grow tired of hearing how the prince disliked troublemakers. The city started to look like it would be real drag if something were not done to liven things up.

"Gangrel," Cash replied proudly to Butterfly's inquiry.

"I take it back," Butterfly said, turning to Sasha. "This guy is obviously no fun. Bored now. Let's get going." She grabbed Sasha's arm and started pulling her toward the exit. "Why the hell do you hang out with Gangrel?" Butterfly asked once they had gotten out of earshot from Cash. "I mean, sure they're usually different than the rest of the people you'll meet, and that's cool, but they're more than a little strange. Besides, they usually have the social skills of a block of ice."

Sasha was about to respond, but thought better of it. "So what are you planning on after we talk to Rayce?" Sasha asked, hoping that she could show her friends some of the seedier sections of the Mission District.

"The primogen?" Butterfly asked, incredulous. "We're not going to talk to Rayce."

"What do you mean?" Sasha asked.

"The Brujah are free spirits," Butterfly replied. "We don't need a primogen, and I'll be damned if I ever check in with one." Plans and schemes were rapidly developing in the anarch's head as she started up the stairs to the street.

"Yeah, well, the prince expects us to check in with him," Sasha countered as the reached their motorcycles outside. Jenni still sat on Sasha's bike, not having been allowed in the Haven as an underager.

"Who cares what the prince expects?" Butterfly replied nonchalantly. "I sure as hell don't. I don't recognize the authority of some crusty old prince over me, and you shouldn't either. When the hell has the prince ever really listened to what you want?"

Sasha opened her mouth to reply, and then suddenly realized that she had no response to offer. In all the time that she had lived in Julian's home, he had never really paid attention to her. He gave her some freedom, but always at the cost of something else. She began to see how much of a control freak her uncle actually was. "I see your point," she said after a few moments. "Let's go blow something up."

"Lead the way," Butterfly responded with a smile. Silently, she wondered if it would be as easy to break down the control of the prince and Brujah primogen over the rest of the Brujah as it had been with Sasha.

Behind the anarchs, back in the Haven, K.T. slowly shook his head in disgust. He had no idea what the future would bring to San Francisco, but he was rapidly getting a very bad feeling. He had things he had to do in the city, and an anarch insurgence would greatly hamper his efforts. K.T. went back to watching Julian Luna, waiting for his chance to speak to the prince. Erica continued to amuse herself by playing solitaire, a game that she had started to feel was becoming far too common in her life. While she had strong feelings for her companion, she was tired of always being restrained. She resolved to get K.T. to go out and have fun at some point during their stay in the city. She would simply have to look around for the perfect place for a night on the town.

K.T. continued to gaze at the prince and his mysterious guest for another half-hour. He wondered who would be able to dominate so much of Julian Luna's time. He knew only that the man was not one of the primogen, as he had been given a description of all of the clan heads. Finally, Basil stood and began to walk quickly out of the club, leaving the prince alone and giving K.T. the opening that he had been looking for. He grabbed Erica by the arm and started to escort her swiftly to Luna's table. He wanted to make sure he had a chance to speak before Julian left.

Julian immediately saw K.T. approaching, as did Cash. The Gangrel primogen quickly rose from his seat at the bar and moved to intercept K.T. and Erica. Cash could see the slight bulge under K.T.'s duster, betraying the presence of a firearm. He was unable to tell if Erica was armed, but he was not planning on taking any chances. He lowered his hand to the Glock that he always carried and started to produce the weapon. Suddenly, K.T. held his hands discreetly out to his sides, his empty palms facing the prince and his rapidly approaching bodyguard. Cash allowed himself to relax a bit, though he continued to move toward Julian's side. The prince had not betrayed any of the concern that his bodyguard had. He had been watching K.T. and Erica at their table for some time, and had already reached the conclusion that the couple would be attempting to present themselves at some point. As the two new kindred got closer, Julian examined each one, making sure that he would be able to remember them.

K.T. was a fairly thin man with long, sandy blond hair and a bit of stubble, who looked to be somewhere in his mid-twenties. He dressed plainly in a pair of faded blue jeans, work boots, and a black duster that had obviously seen much use. His companion was a significantly shorter woman of twenty or so, with light brown eyes and much neater shoulder length, slightly curly blond hair. The woman's attire was a study in contrasts as compared to her friend's, as she wore a knee-length black silk dress and a black velvet jacket. The pair slowly strode up to Julian's table, and K.T. nodded briefly in respect for Julian's position of authority.

"We seek permission to enter your city," K.T. said evenly. "I'm K.T. Corben, of the Gangrel clan." He noticed Cash relax a far bit more once he revealed his clan. K.T. knew well that the prince's bodyguard held all other members of the Gangrel clan in high regard. "This is Miss Erica Blackwell," K.T. added, referring to the woman at his side. He hoped that Julian and Cash would not notice that he had omitted any reference to Erica's clan affiliation.

"I've heard of you," Julian said, looking over K.T.. "You're a mercenary Gangrel." The prince remembered Archon mentioning the name of this particular Gangrel many years ago. Julian strongly suspected that K.T. had once worked for Archon, but he decided that it would not be a good time to inquire about it. Instead, he continued his brief interrogation. "Did someone call you to this city to hire you?" the prince asked. Julian also recalled that his sire had said that K.T.'s services were not cheap. It would be unlikely that anyone but one of the primogen would be able to afford the mercenary Gangrel, and the last thing Luna wanted was to allow such a precedent. If mercenaries were to be used, Julian felt that he should be the only one permitted to make use of them.

"No," K.T. replied. "I came to get some rest. My last job didn't go all that well." The Gangrel allowed a rich mixture of truth and lies. While it was certainly a fact that his last job had almost gotten him killed, he could not say with complete honesty that he was in the city only to get some rest. There were a couple of things he would want to look into while he was in San Francisco, a few old friends he might consider looking up. He knew the true intent of the prince's question, however. Julian would want to know if K.T. were in San Francisco doing anything that might be disruptive. As far as the Gangrel knew, he was honest in assuming that he would not cause any major problems.

"What job would that be?" Cash asked, wondering what this wandering member of his clan had gotten himself into earlier. Gangrel were loners that traveled often, and their tales were valued when clan members got together to trade stories.

"One that didn't pay well enough," K.T. replied cryptically. "With all due respect, I don't think my business outside this city concerns you." Cash seemed to forget his question, and K.T. was happy that the primogen did not seem to remember him from his last visit to San Francisco. Had Cash remembered, K.T. doubted whether Julian's bodyguard would have been so willing to let the issue drop.

"You'll have to understand if we are a bit careful," Julian said, smoothing out Cash's bluntness. "We have had several problems within the city of late." He looked sideways to Cash, who simply nodded his agreement. The Gangrel primogen followed K.T.'s lead in not elaborating on points he did not feel were relevant. "How long will you be staying?" Julian asked, hoping that it would not be long. He did not forget that he had just allowed six new Tremere and the Nightshades to gain entrance, and a prolonged stay by K.T. and Erica would only further stress the city's food supply.

"I'm not certain how long we'll be here, but probably no longer than a month," K.T. replied. "Long enough to get in one or two Giants games before I leave, at any rate."

"And where do you plan on staying?" Julian asked. If he were to be faced with a mercenary in his city, he wanted to know exactly where he would be.

"Excuse me, but that doesn't really concern you," Erica cut in, having lost her patience with Julian's intrusive questions. "Jesus Christ, what is this, the Spanish Inquisition?"

Cash, Julian, and even K.T. turned astonished looks on Erica. As they did, she seemed to realize her mistake, and a guilty expression came to her face. She knew that she had completely disobeyed K.T.'s instructions to remain silent unless she was spoken to, and she also knew that she would be in big trouble when her Gangrel companion got her out of the club. For the present, though, she resolved to try to play it cool.

"Uh, sorry," she said sheepishly, though her apology was obviously directed at her Gangrel companion, and not the prince that she had yelled at. As far as she was concerned, she did not feel she had done anything wrong except for disobeying K.T. She held firm in her belief that Julian had gotten far too curious.

"Maybe you should apologize to him," K.T. said coldly, gesturing to the prince. Erica immediately seemed ready to object, but K.T. quickly cut her off by raising his hand. "Now," he added emphatically, making it clear to Erica that the trouble she was already in was nothing compared to what she would face if she did not comply.

"I'm sorry," Erica said to Julian, though this apology seemed to lack much of the sincerity she had shown to K.T. She simply hoped that her friend had been appeased.

"You would do well to respect your elders in this city," Julian said. "Are you Gangrel as well?" K.T. almost cursed out loud as Julian asked the question. He had hoped to avoid this topic, and his anger at Erica's insolence grew. K.T. realized he would have to cover for her yet again.

"No," Erica replied before K.T. could intercept the question. Then she smiled a little bit. "I'm Ventrue." K.T. almost grabbed Erica by the throat as soon as she had spoken. Between her behavior and her association with a Gangrel mercenary, she had opened herself up to far too many questions. Her existence did not match the stereotype of the Ventrue clan.

"You're Ventrue?" Cash said, unable to hide his shock. Julian simply stared at her, a blank look on his face. For one of the rare times in his life, Julian Luna was unable to think of a proper response.

"She's a very young Ventrue, from a very spoiled nouveau riche family," K.T. said quickly, trying to regain the prince's attention. "I'm looking after her as a favor to her sire." He hoped the lie would be enough to satisfy the prince.

"I see," Julian said, still looking over the brash young woman with a bit of curiosity. "As long as you obey Kindred Law, you are welcome within my city."

"Thank you," K.T. said respectfully, hiding his relief. "I'll make sure the childe stays in line for the duration of our stay. If you don't mind, I'd like to get on with seeing about accommodations for the day." K.T. then grabbed a hold of Erica again, making sure that she would be with him when he finally moved toward the door.

"Of course," Julian said. "You are free to stay wherever you please." Julian gave up his earlier attempt at finding out where the mercenary would be sleeping. He knew that to ask again so soon would be too obvious. Instead, he resolved to have Cash investigate the matter again at a later time.

"I guess I'll be seeing you around," K.T. said as he left. He kept hold of Erica's arm, leading her up the stairs. As soon as they were out of sight, Cash turned to Julian.

"I don't like her," the bodyguard said, referring to the well dressed but poorly behaved Ventrue. "Something about her just isn't right."

"I don't think any Ventrue would embrace her and let her go with such contempt for a prince," Julian responded, sharing his bodyguard's concern. "And her New York accent makes me suspicious," Julian added. Both he and Cash knew well that New York City was the center of Sabbat activities within the New World. If Erica had been embraced in or around New York, it was unlikely that she had avoided Sabbat influence altogether. "Unfortunately I cannot try her on account of speech patterns," Julian said as he leaned back into his seat.

"Still, it wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on her," Cash reasoned.

"If you or your clanmates simply happen to end up in the same bars, I don't think it would be construed as following them," Julian said, looking back up at his bodyguard. Cash nodded with a smile and quickly started back upstairs to the Gangrel guards at the doors of the Haven.

A block away, Erica started to grumble as she and K.T. walked around a corner. "It's Vampire Law," Erica said in a mocking voice as she trudged along the sidewalk. K.T. suddenly grabbed her by her shoulders and threw her up against the wall.

"If you ever pull another stunt like that I'm going to gut you myself," K.T. warned. "You couldn't keep your damned mouth shut for five minutes?" When he had first started to travel with Erica, K.T. had hoped that she would learn the value of silence. After almost a year, though, she seemed less respectful than ever.

"I'm sorry," Erica said, looking surprised and a bit frightened. "I mean, he didn't have a right to ask us all those questions, though," she added, trying to get K.T. to understand her point of view. She knew that the Gangrel was secretive, and had probably been as offended as she had been at Julian's interrogation.

K.T. glared at her for a long moment, then released his grip and pushed back a few loose strands of hair on his head. He stared at Erica, knowing that she was capable of playing him like a violin when the necessity arose. He would never be able to stay angry at her, because she always knew exactly what to say to get out of trouble.

"Alright," K.T. relented. "Alright. Just remember, though. When you meet an elder, show respect. It can't be all that hard; I know you've had to behave at some point in your life." At least he hoped that she had been forced to show respect at some time. Otherwise, he would never be able to get her to follow instructions.

"It just takes a little getting used to and all," Erica said. "Back in-"

"Just forget it," K.T. said, cutting her off. "Just forget it. Now let's stop talking about back in wherever and all and get going."

"Alright," Erica said. Then she giggled a little. "But the look on his face was priceless when I told him what clan I was from."

Despite himself, K.T. smiled a little. Yes, he admitted again, he could never stay angry with his friend. Still, he needed to teach her to behave, or one day they might get killed because of her lack of respect.

"I don't care how funny it was, just don't ever do it again," K.T. said, forcing down a smile. "Now come on. We have a lot to do before the sun comes up."

****

II

Rayce waited in silence, for the umpteenth time going over the words that he would use when Sasha was finally brought to him. He had tried to put faith in her, to believe that she would be able to behave herself when she went out. All of that confidence, however, turned out to be completely misplaced. Not only had Sasha taken part in two robberies along with Jenni, by all accounts she was with a gang of female anarchs. That was the last thing that Rayce needed. Now Sasha was greeting foreign Brujah and making them all feel well at home as they knocked over liquor stores together. This would need to end immediately, one way or the other.

After having waited for almost three hours, a knock finally came on his door. Carter was the first to enter the room, followed by a defeated looking Sasha and Jenni. There were bloodstains and obvious bullet holes in Sasha's jacket, and Jenni appeared to have taken a knife wound across her midsection. There was a slight sound of a scuffle in the hallway, and Butterfly was half thrown into the office moments later, followed by Erin, her second in command. Simon Jones, Anthony De Rosa, and Billy Leary walked in slowly after Sasha's new friends. Rayce looked over his enforcers with satisfaction.

Simon, commonly called The Templar, was what was sometimes referred to in the intelligence community as a 'cleaner.' Whenever a mistake was made on any job, Simon was called in to clean up the mess. This amounted to murdering any witnesses, and disposing of the bodies. Carter had been the first to bring Simon to Rayce's attention, asking to embrace the government assassin. Originally, Rayce had balked at the idea of bringing Simon into their ranks, pointing to his lack of regard for life. Jones had killed without a second thought on countless occasions throughout his mortal life. However, Carter showed his sire how loyal Simon was to his superiors, and this level of obedience and discipline was what had permitted the Templar's entrance into Rayce's clan. He had very quickly become known by the anarchs of the surrounding area, as he eliminated any encroaching rabble that he heard of. Rayce had no desire to populate the city with Brujah that he had not had a hand in selecting.

Anthony De Rosa was also a former assassin, although he had been freelance. He had worked in the private sector, hiring himself out to the rich and famous of the western world. Questions of his loyalty were also raised, but the fact of the matter was that Anthony had reached middle age, and his reflexes had started to slow. He had lost his edge in the field, and was unqualified for anything else. By becoming Brujah, he had regained all of his lost physical prowess, and once again had a purpose. In addition to being one of Rayce's enforcers, Anthony was occasionally hired out to private interests as he had been during his mortal life. This allowed him to make some extra money while he kept his skills well honed.

The last man, Billy Leary, had been a San Francisco policeman until only a few months earlier. He had been dismissed from the force for use of excessive force. However, it was the identities of the targets of Billy's assaults that had drawn Rayce's attention. The ex-cop did not mind gambling, prostitution, and even burglary. The criminals he was infamous for beating were drug dealers. In Billy's worldview, drug dealers were the worst criminals because the product that they illegally pedaled caused people to be generally less productive than they would have been without chemical 'enhancement.' As a result, the fabric of the society slowly became less ordered. It was the desire for order that Billy sought, and once Rayce had explained the dreams that he had for San Francisco, Billy enthusiastically accepted the embrace. He was attuned with Rayce's vision, striving for a new level of order in the kindred world, where personal responsibility allowed for greater levels of independence.

Butterfly looked up at these three men, some of the newest of the city's Brujah, and grinned slightly. "So who the hell are you?" she asked, turning her attention to Rayce.

"My name is Rayce," the primogen replied curtly. "I am well aware of the activities in which you have been partaking. You will terminate these activities immediately."

"Oh really?" Butterfly asked in a mocking voice, seemingly unimpressed with Rayce's position. "What authority do you have over me?"

"I am the primogen of the Brujah in this city," Rayce replied evenly. He had seen many such young Brujah over the years, and it never ceased to amaze him how ignorant they could be.

"So what?" Butterfly asked. "I didn't vote for you." No sooner had she spoken the words than her jaw was caved in under the force of a kick from Billy's boot.

"You weren't given the opportunity," Rayce replied, ignoring his associate's brutality. Butterfly declined to respond to Rayce's answer, instead spitting out a mouthful of blood, and concentrating on healing her injury. Sasha, however, was not as willing to hold her tongue.

"They're members of our clan," Sasha shouted out from her position on the floor in front of Rayce's desk. "You should treat them with respect."

Rayce only replied by smiling at Sasha, a smile that screamed at the young Brujah that there was something that they were not being told. Rayce, however, did not fill them in on what he found so amusing.

"So what are you going to do stud?" Butterfly asked, her jaw having healed enough to allow her to talk.

"I will give you the chance to get the hell out of the city," Rayce replied, the amusement he had displayed moments earlier completely erased from his visage. "You have one hour. If you are seen in the city again after that, you will be extinguished."

"You don't have the authority to do that," Sasha yelled. "Only Julian can give and carry out a sentence of death on another kindred."

"Watch me," Rayce replied, venom dripping from his voice. "And pray, young Sasha, that I will not force you to join them."

"You couldn't," Sasha replied. "Not in a million years."

"San Francisco is a dangerous place," Rayce replied to the insolent woman. "It would be a shame if something were to happen to you. I'm sure Julian would not question the death of a kindred that seemed to be getting involved in things that were too dangerous for her. Remember that he has already had to save you from the Tong once. There's nothing that says you can't piss them off again."

A look of terror came over Sasha's face as she realized that Rayce was threatening to destroy her. A couple of short years ago, the two of them had been the best of friends. Now, however, her old friend's affection had obviously become a thing of the past. In fact, Sasha began to realize that Rayce held her in a measure of disdain. For the first time in a great while, Sasha was afraid.

"One hour," Rayce repeated to Butterfly and Erin as Simon and Anthony lifted the women off of the floor.

"That's not much time," Butterfly commented. "What if we don't make it out in an hour?"

"Pray that you never find out," Rayce replied coldly.

"Wait, I'll help you get your stuff together," Sasha said as she rose to her feet. She looked back at Rayce as she walked toward the door. "After all, I wouldn't want anything unfortunate to happen to them." Sasha walked out behind the two Nightshades, followed by Jenni.

Once they were outside the door, Butterfly turned to Sasha and grinned widely. "What an asshole," she said, nodding back toward Rayce's office. "There's no way in hell he can order us out of this city."

"Don't push it," Sasha said, still obviously shaken by Rayce's threats. "I think he was considering whacking you right there in his office."

"No way," Erin commented. "It would have messed up his nice Ventrue-style rug."

As the four women reached the end of the hallway and prepared to enter the main room of the Pierce Street Annex, Butterfly turned quickly to Sasha. "You know what? I have an idea." The Brujah then ran off through the crowd toward the front door, forcing Sasha, Erin, and Jenni to fight their way after their friend.

Back in his office, Rayce sat back down in the leather chair behind his desk. "Follow them," he said to Anthony, Billy, and Simon as he opened the top drawer of his desk. "Make certain they do as they're told." Once his three enforcers had gone, Rayce turned to Carter and sighed deeply. "What do you think I should do?"

"About Sasha?" Carter asked, making sure he knew the topic of discussion.

"Yes," Rayce replied, "about Sasha." The Brujah primogen pulled a folder out of the top drawer and started to look it over. With a quick glance, Carter could see that Rayce was holding the police rap sheet that Sasha had compiled since being embraced. Had she been a mortal that had been caught for each of the crimes, she would have been sent to prison for a very long time.

"You're not seriously considering extinguishing her, are you?" Carter asked. He knew too well the repercussions that could result from such a decision. While Julian Luna did not spend a great deal of time with Sasha, everyone in the city was well aware of how much he cared for her. She was one of the last of his mortal descendants, and that was a very serious matter for the prince of the city. He would doubtlessly avenge any harm that might befall her.

"Simon could simply make her vanish," Rayce replied softly, obviously thinking the matter through. "Either Billy or Anthony could set it up to look like an accident. Either way, Luna would never know for sure whether I did it. Without proof, he would not be able to make a move against me. The other primogen wouldn't allow punishment without evidence. Hell, the only one of them that even cares that the little bitch exists is Cash, and on the right day, even he might forgive me for killing her."

"Sometimes she's more trouble than she's worth," Carter commented, nodding. "But I don't see how that justifies killing her."

"She is always more trouble than she's worth," Rayce replied. "You know why that is?" Carter seemed to consider the question for a moment, then shook his head. "It's because she isn't worth a goddamn thing," Rayce said, answering his own question. "The only thing she gives us, besides headaches and legal problems, that is, is the lack of the wrath that would be visited on us by the prince were we to kill her."

Carter did not respond, instead sitting in silence. An uneasy hush dominated the room for several minutes, until a loud knock at the door reminded Rayce that there was a world outside with many problems with which he needed to deal. "Come in," he yelled.

The door immediately opened and Simon almost ran into the room. "As soon as they left the club, the went down the street, held up a gas station, and then blew it up," the young Brujah said, clearly uncomfortable being the one that was chosen to tell Rayce the news. "The one named Butterfly shot us and told us to tell you that if you want them out of the city, you can try to kick them out."

"Where are the others?" Rayce asked evenly, betraying none of the rage that both Carter and Simon were sure was welling up within him.

"Billy took off on his bike, trying to follow them," Simon reported. "Anthony got shot up pretty bad. He's in one of the other offices changing his clothes. He didn't want people to notice that he should be lying on an autopsy table instead of walking around."

Rayce smiled, approving of the actions that his enforcers had taken. They had worked to keep track of the women, and also kept in mind that discretion was important when dealing within public view.

"Get word out to the others that they are not to go anywhere near Sasha or her new friends," Rayce said coolly.

"What?" Carter asked, dumbfounded. "You're going to let them out of the city?"

"I doubt they're planning on leaving," Rayce replied. "And no, even if they were, I would chase them down before they made it. All of this bullshit ends now."

The Brujah primogen picked up the phone and immediately dialed Julian's cell-phone. He had never used this number, as it was kept only for the greatest of emergencies, but Rayce felt that this situation qualified.

"Julian, it's Rayce," the primogen said as Carter listened in. "I need to meet with you. Can you meet me at the mansion in an hour?" Rayce folded the phone back up and put it in his pocket without acknowledging the prince's answer. "Carter, you're in charge here," Rayce said to his oldest childe. "I'm going to meet with Luna. I think he's going to want to hear what I have to say."

****

III

Billy Leary slowed his bike on the dark street, getting off to pursue Sasha and her friends on foot. The four girls had parked their bikes moments before and ran into an alley. Judging from the dilapidated buildings in the area, Billy figured they had probably gone directly to their haven to regroup. From what he had heard of the majority of Brujah, this was exactly the sort of environment that they liked to call home.

Billy walked into the alley and drew his Glock, allowing the cool steel to calm his nerves somewhat. He was staying back a safe distance, knowing that his primary responsibility would be to find out where the kindred gang was hiding out. If he were to be discovered, all of his prior stealth would have been for naught. A barely perceptible sound caught his attention, and he threw himself back against the wall, seeking refuge in the shadows that surrounded him. A moment later, a cat darted out from behind a dumpster, and Billy heaved a sigh of relief. He had been a vampire for far too short a time to have not dispensed with such mortal expressions.

He came to a corner and noticed immediately that the walls of the alley were riddled with pockmarks from gunfire. He did not realize that a year earlier, Matthew Reimer, the primogen of the Telemon clan, had been ambushed by the Sabbat in this very alley. Had he known, he may have raised his guard against the attack that was waiting for him. Several years of experience on the police force meant little when going against a group of travelling Brujah that had been surviving against long odds with only their wits as an ally.

"What, you thought you could follow us without being noticed?" a voice asked from behind Billy. The ex-cop whirled and saw Butterfly standing behind him, holding a shotgun and leveling the weapon at Rayce's newest enforcer. Although Butterfly had the advantage of surprise, Billy had experience on his side. He raised his Glock and fired in one smooth motion, before Butterfly could come close to getting off a shot. To Leary's shock, however, the bullets passed straight through Butterfly's body, ricocheting against the wall behind her. Butterfly laughed at Billy Leary, and the Brujah enforcer was suddenly knocked from his feet by several shots that hit him from behind. Billy looked up at Butterfly again, and she vanished before his eyes.

"Ah, poor little Brujah fall down go boom," he heard a voice taunt from behind him. He rolled his body over, and saw Butterfly once again. He suddenly realized that the first time he had seen her, it had simply been an apparition of some kind, an illusion that had succeeded in its purpose of misleading him, of opening him up to the true attack that he had been facing the whole time. He cursed himself – if only he had never fallen for the deception and turned around, he might have a fairly good chance of making it out of the alley. As it was, he realized he was at the mercy of Sasha and her friends, the Nightshades.

Even as he thought about her, Sasha walked into view. "You know, Billy, you could have avoided all of this. You could have just left us alone. Why did you have to follow us?" Her demeanor was arrogant, but there was still a hint of regret in her voice.

Billy refused to answer, instead focusing his energy on healing the bullet wounds he had taken. If he were to get out of this, it would be because he was able to fight his way out. Just as he began to feel able to strike, however, another salvo of bullets tore into his flesh. Leary cried out in pain, his Glock falling from his hand. Apparently, he realized, Butterfly had known all too well what he had been planning, and she was taking no chances of his recovering enough to offer any significant resistance. He looked up and saw both Butterfly and Erin grinning widely, the smoke still wafting from the barrels of their shotguns.

"Just do it and get over with, you bitch!" Billy spat at Sasha, hoping she would still be loyal enough to her primogen to not allow one of his enforcers to be destroyed.

"Yeah, Sasha, do it," Butterfly commanded. "If you kill him, you'll be one of us."

Sasha turned and looked at Butterfly in disbelief. She then looked down at Jenni, and saw that the child had a blank expression on her face. _Perhaps_, Sasha thought, _the child does not truly understand what is going on_. Sasha knew that if she were to kill Billy, it would be an act of rebellion against Rayce and his ordered clan system. It was a transgression punishable by death, and Sasha doubted her own conviction in taking such a drastic step.

"I can't do it," she finally said. "Rayce would kill me if I destroyed Billy."

"We can protect you," Butterfly answered. "You don't need to fear him. Besides, he holds no authority over you. You're Brujah. You don't need to acknowledge the superiority of anyone over you. Just whack him, and lets go about making sure that Rayce can't do this to any others of our clan."

"Kill Billy, and you'll feel better," Erin added with a smile. The destruction of one of her kind did not seem to affect her in the least.

"Just try," Billy said as he rose quickly to his feet. The minute of doubt that Sasha had experienced had distracted Butterfly long enough for Billy to finally heal his wounds enough to escape. He fired three times, hitting Sasha, Butterfly, and Erin in the chest and knocking them from their feet. Jenni crouched down as quickly as possible, not realizing that she had never even been a target. As far as Billy was concerned, she posed no threat. He then raced off, back the way he had come, knowing that he needed to get out of the alley and into the street beyond if he had any hope of surviving. Bullets raced past his head as the three women got back to their feet and fired at their escaping prisoner. Billy was hit twice in his right shoulder, but he realized with relief that he would make it out of the alley, that he would in fact make it back to Rayce, to warn him of the Nightshades' willingness to fight the primogen.

Billy Leary never even saw the fatal strike coming. He reached the end of the alley, and just as he was about to run out and into the street, a sword cut smoothly through the air and took his head from his shoulders. The body collapsed immediately as the head hit the ground and rolled forward a few feet. Kazz walked toward the head and picked it up triumphantly, raising her sword with her other hand. Melinda grabbed the body and dragged it back into the alley. The rest of the Nightshades dispersed into various hiding places along the street, watching for any sign of the police.

"Nice work, eh?" Kazz asked Butterfly as she walked up to her friend in the alley.

"Very nice," Butterfly responded. She looked at Sasha with a slight smile, knowing that the prince's niece now had no choice but to stand with the Nightshades. She would be held at least partially responsible for Billy's death, and Rayce would now never accept her back into his twisted version of the Brujah clan. If Sasha wished to remain in San Francisco, she would need to go to war with her former master.

"What now?" Sasha asked, grabbing a hold of Jenni and holding her tightly, as if to protect her from the fate that the child seemed unaware had grabbed a hold of the both of them.

"We both know what Rayce is going to do about this," Butterfly answered. "It looks like you're going to need a place to stay." Butterfly, Kazz, and Erin all walked down the alley toward the street, as Melinda lit Billy's body on fire to hide any evidence from the authorities. They would save the head for later, as a message for the high and mighty primogen of the Brujah clan in San Francisco.

"Do you have any allies that you might be able to get to help us out?' Erin asked as they all reached the parked motorcycles.

"Help us out?" Sasha asked, still not appearing to be completely grasping the reality of the situation. "You're going to stay?"

"We're Brujah," Butterfly answered for her friend. "Like I told you last night – Brujah stick together."

"There's one person that might help," Sasha answered. "He might be able to bring in some of his friends, too."

****

IV

Rayce walked slowly into Julian Luna's mansion, not at all looking forward to the conversation he was about to have with the prince of San Francisco. He would have to proceed carefully, he knew, or he risked Julian's wrath. Of course, Rayce did not feel physically threatened by Julian Luna, he simply understood the reality of the situation – that Julian Luna could make it impossible for Rayce to control his clan, resulting in his ouster from the position of Brujah primogen. That would irrevocably destroy all of the plans that he had developed for the Bay Area.

Rayce walked past a couple of Gangrel who were standing guard at the top of the stairs leading to the second floor. Each of them nodded as Rayce strode by, showing the respect that they had for the primogen of one of the clans. Rayce smiled at how things had changed. When he had arrived in the city, the Brujah and Gangrel had been at each other's throats, and had been for decades. He had ended that war, and the two clans had even fought as allies within the past couple of years. Thoughts raced through Rayce's head and he seemed to quicken his stride, walking with an increased sense of urgency. He knew that this peace with the Gangrel was also at great risk should matters not be controlled quickly. A citywide civil war could easily erupt, and he knew Luna would stop at nothing to prevent this. Rayce needed to convince Julian that his own plan was the best with which to proceed. The Brujah primogen walked into Julian's office and nodded his head, showing his own respect for the prince, a respect he truly felt. It had taken much within the past few years to hold this city, and Rayce saw the strength that Julian had displayed in retaining power.

"What is it?" Julian asked immediately. "You sounded like this was quite urgent."

"It is, Julian," Rayce responded coolly, sitting down across from the prince. "I have some trouble in my clan. I felt you should hear this from me first, before someone else comes to you, twisting the facts around." Rayce did not mention any names, but both men knew that the Brujah was referring to Patrick, the primogen of the Tremere. His constant mission of misinformation had almost caused a couple of major misunderstandings within the past few months, and Rayce feared that it might happen again.

"What exactly is wrong?" Julian asked, intrigued by the aura of mystery in which Rayce seemed to be surrounding the subject. He noted Rayce's uncharacteristically dramatic approach to the situation, holding off on explaining the situation, keeping Julian in suspense.

"You permitted some Brujah to enter the city last night, didn't you?" Rayce asked, his tone somewhat shaky. It was then that Julian realized that Rayce was not avoiding the true topic in order to be dramatic, but because he was truly uneasy with the situation. Julian immediately became more alert, knowing that there indeed must be something very wrong.

"There was a large group of female Brujah," Julian explained. "They presented themselves properly, and I had no reason to not allow them entry. They promised to obey the Masquerade and my own edicts, so I saw no problem with them."

"They blew up a gas station about an hour ago," Rayce replied, beginning to reveal his anger. "I don't think that exactly would be considered complying with your edicts."

"No," Julian agreed, "I don't think it would." Already the prince was beginning to regret his decision. He was glad that Basil was not with him, to tell Julian that he had told him so.

"Why didn't you alert me to the presence of Brujah in the city?" Rayce asked, his voice growing confrontational.

"I told them to check in with you," Julian answered calmly. "I am not responsible for holding their hands all the way down to your office to make sure that they immediately do as I say." Julian's irritation at Rayce's expectations was evident, but Rayce did not seem to care. In fact, the Brujah began to grow more agitated.

"Have them check in with me?" Rayce asked, raising his voice a bit more. He could not believe that the prince had been so irresponsible with a gang of anarchs. "You should have checked with me before you even allowed them into the city."

"What?" Julian asked, hardly able to contain his shock at Rayce's suggestion. The Brujah primogen was stating that the prince should come to him for permission to make decisions about his own realm. That was unheard of.

"I finally got the clan under control, and you bring in rabble from outside," Rayce said, his voice growing calmer. He knew he would get nowhere shouting at the prince, and forced himself to control his anger. The sudden change in tone seemed to unsettle Julian far more than Rayce's uncontrolled outburst had moments earlier. "That's the last thing I needed. I expect you to make up for this."

"What do you want?" Julian asked. As much as he hated to agree with Rayce, he could definitely see his point. The Brujah in San Francisco had always been out of control, but Rayce had changed that. Members of the clan were no longer threatening the Masquerade on a nightly basis, and they had in fact started to contribute to the welfare of the city. Julian started to understand how great an error he may have made.

"I'm going to exterminate them," Rayce said without a hint of emotion. "There are a lot of them, so there could be some trouble in keeping it all quiet, but the decision has been made."

"I could have the Telemon help you," Julian suggested. He desired to keep this as quiet as Rayce did, and he had confidence in the Telemon clan's ability to be discreet. The Telemon would also be quick, which was desirable. The prince did not relish the thought of calling in favors again to cover up urban warfare in the streets.

"You're not going to want to do that, Julian," Rayce continued. "I haven't exactly finished explaining the problem."

"What do you mean?" Julian asked. Part of his mind was screaming out to him, and he got a slight sickening feeling in his gut. He was afraid of where Rayce was going with the conversation.

"Sasha is in with them," Rayce explained. "She shot one of my own childer. She will be joining the rest of them in their fate."

"What?" Julian managed to ask, his mind swimming in confusion far too much for him to say anything else. He had realized that Sasha might have gotten involved with her new friends, but he had hoped that she would have more intelligence than she had apparently displayed. Obviously, his hopes had been in vain.

"I have been more than patient with Sasha," Rayce explained. "I have tried everything. I have given her responsibilities, hoping that would cause her to change her behavior. It didn't." Rayce paused for a moment before continuing, noting the look of understanding on Julian's face. The prince had not been blind to Sasha's activities. "I've also instead tried taking away all of her privileges, but that only made her more rebellious. I've tolerated that abomination child she has, hoping that would cause her to be a little more mature," Rayce said, referring to Jenni. The Brujah then waved his arms in exasperation. "All that's accomplished is to make Jenni more irresponsible than she was when Sasha first found her. I know Sasha is one of your mortal descendants, Julian, and I'm sorry, but I'm going to destroy her."

"The hell you are," Julian said immediately, having instantly regained his composure.

"She's Brujah, and under my control," Rayce replied, his eyes beginning to glow a pale yellow. He was again becoming increasingly unable to hold his rage in check. "If I decide she is to be destroyed, then it's out of your hands."

"You seem to forget that you are under my control," Julian shot back. "Only I hold the power of life and death over the kindred in this city."

"I didn't want to push it this far," Rayce continued, "but the fact of the matter is that you couldn't stop me if you wanted to." Rayce looked at Julian with a challenging stare, wondering if the prince would dare to defy him. As far as Julian knew, Rayce was simply another young Brujah punk. The prince would not be prepared if he took the fight too far.

"I can expel you from my city," Julian answered hotly.

"Perhaps," Rayce said with a wicked grin coming across his lips. "I wouldn't bet on it, though. If you did succeed in getting rid of me, you would once again have a Brujah clan that was out of control. The Masquerade would be in danger. Is Sasha's life worth placing every kindred in this city at risk?" He smiled as he made his point, then decided to go a step further. "You have very serious responsibilities, and I don't think the primogen would agree with a prince that made such a reckless decision. You enjoy the peace that I've brought to you, and now you discover the price. I'm getting rid of Sasha."

"If you kill Sasha, I'll kill you," Julian said evenly, acknowledging that he could not reasonably threaten to have Rayce expelled from the city. The Brujah primogen was right in his assessment of the situation. Julian would instead simply make it clear that in killing Sasha, Rayce would be forfeiting his own life.

"Who exactly were you planning on sending after me?" Rayce asked, daring Julian to come out and challenge him. The Brujah knew all too well that Julian would not even last a minute. Julian was old, experienced, and extremely powerful, but in the end he would be faced with the fact that his blood was not potent enough.

"This bickering is pointless," Julian said, avoiding Rayce's question. He placed his hands on his lap, tapping his fingertips together for a few moments, then continued. "I approve of the actions you plan to take against Butterfly and her gang. You will seek to keep Sasha out of harm's way. We will discuss my niece at another time, when we have both had enough time to think this over rationally." The thought quickly went through Julian's head that he should have followed Yashida's advice and watched over Sasha more carefully, but he shook the idea from his head as quickly as it had come.

"Fine," Rayce answered. This was actually more than he had hoped to achieve in his argument, and he took what he could get. He was well aware that Julian would discuss the matter with Daedalus, who would probably see the issue Rayce's way. Sasha was too disruptive an influence on the Brujah clan's newfound sense of order, and the primogen of the clan should have a voice in shaping the clan the way he wanted to, just as Julian had a say in shaping the entire city the way he wanted to.

"Is all of the shouting done?" a deep voice asked from the doorway. Julian looked toward the entrance and saw Basil standing there, a somewhat disinterested expression on his face.

"Yes, come on in," Julian invited. The prince then turned to the Brujah. "Rayce, this is Basil Romanov. He was my sire's blood brother." Rayce looked at Basil and nodded. "Basil, this is Rayce, the Brujah primogen." Basil gazed at Rayce intently, having the vague feeling that he knew him.

"Basil Romanov?" Rayce asked. "You know, that name sounds familiar. Have I met you somewhere before?"

Julian's heart sank as soon as he heard Rayce's question. He thought it extremely unlikely that any of the Brujah in San Francisco would have heard of Basil, as young as they all were. If indeed Rayce knew of Basil's past, there could be serious problems.

"I do not believe we have ever met," Basil replied smoothly. He did not finish the sentence, holding back his opinion that if they had indeed ever met before, then Rayce would not be alive to be having the present conversation.

"Must be someone else," Rayce replied as he stood up from his chair and walked toward the doorway. "Thank you for meeting with me Julian. I'd better get going, though. I have a lot to do." At that the Brujah primogen walked swiftly into the hallway and out to his parked Porsche 911 Turbo. Rayce was seething by the time he reached the vehicle, a used car that Rayce had bought for sentimental reasons. He had an attachment to the 1991 model.

Rayce pondered the facts that he had just learned. First and foremost, Julian was of the same bloodline as Basil the Butcher. In retrospect, Rayce realized, it made sense. Both Archon and Julian were renowned for the brutality with which they had persecuted the Brujah over the years. It only stood to reason that they should both be related to the one kindred who was responsible for a three year massacre of Brujah in the middle of the fourteenth century. Rayce shook his head as he tore out down the driveway and off of Julian's property. Basil the Butcher was here, in San Francisco. During the old Ventrue's rampage, Basil had extinguished Rayce's sire, and this was not something that the Brujah primogen would forget anytime soon. He would have vengeance. First, however, he needed to take care of the problem of Sasha and Butterfly. That was business. Any personal vendettas could be settled later.

Julian shook his head as he saw Rayce turn onto the road and speed toward the city. The actions of the Nightshades had truly caused unforeseen difficulties, and Julian would now have to deal with all of them.

"Do you think he'll figure out who you are?" Julian asked Basil as he returned to his chair.

"Perhaps," Basil responded, not seeming overly concerned. "If he does, I will simply destroy him. It is as simple as that."

Julian sat for a few moments, wondering if he dared ask the question that had been plaguing him since Basil's arrival. He decided at last that gaining the knowledge might be important to his position, so he resolved to ask. "I know that the Brujah refer to you as 'The Butcher.' Why is that?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" Basil asked, teasing the prince with his secret.

"It might become important," Julian replied. "All I know is that you've killed many Brujah."

"Yes," Basil replied, nodding his head slightly in agreement. "In the middle of the fourteenth century, a civil war of some sorts developed within the Brujah clan. I'm not really sure what it was about, and I really do not much care. All I know for sure is that two groups of elders in the clan started accusing each other of being of a bloodline that was not truly the Brujah clan."

"So what happened?" Julian asked, suddenly curious.

"It was, of course, before the time of the law of the Masquerade," Basil said. "That wouldn't come to us until 1486," Basil pointed out. Julian could swear that the kindred's eyes grew misty with discussions about what many elders viewed as the good old days, but he ignored it. Instead, he paid close attention. "However," Basil continued, "the Inquisition was just getting into full swing, and we were starting to understand the danger that could be posed to us by human mobs, let alone by the slayers. There was no great shortage of vampire hunters at that time, many of them armed with crossbows and stakes, and the knowledge of how to use them to destroy us." Basil stopped suddenly for dramatic effect, and looked Julian over, making sure he was following the story. He then continued. "The Ventrue Justicar took the only reasonable action available, and ordered all of the warriors of both sides to cease the fighting. Unfortunately, he was powerless to enforce his decision, because the Brujah Justicar opposed his edict. Apparently the Brujah Justicar was a high-ranking member of one of the two factions that had developed in the Brujah clan. To make a long story short, I was chosen to enforce the Ventrue command through the use of force. I killed dozens of the Brujah on both sides, including many of the elders."

"Why is there no record of this war?" Julian asked. He found it hard to believe that such widespread violence could go unnoticed, even in medieval society.

"The massacres took place across Europe between the years of 1348-1350," Basil said simply, feeling that would explain everything. When he saw that Julian did not understand, Basil was reminded of the youth of San Francisco's prince, and continued. "It was the time of the Black Death. No one noticed that certain groups were fighting each other, and that entire villages were wiped from the face of the earth in a great funeral pyre. The mortals were too busy worrying about whether they would survive, and the other kindred were too self-involved to take notice."

"Perhaps the saying is true that history repeats itself, then." Julian commented softly.

"Why is that?" Basil asked, curious.

"It seems as if the Brujah are once again at civil war," Julian responded, "and they're using my city as the battlefield."

"Well in that case," Basil responded glibly, "I guess you should feel lucky that I am here to deal with the situation, just as I did before."

****

V

Sasha slowed her motorcycle and brought it to a stop on the side of the road, helping Jenni off of the back. The prince's niece knew that she might have finally gotten herself into more trouble than she would be able to handle on her own. Several times in her short life Sasha had found herself at odds with the members of her clan, but the current crisis went far beyond simple distaste. The Brujah clan was now hunting her, with the primogen likely having given the order for her to be destroyed. She could not, of course, know for sure how much danger she was in. She had been avoiding the other Brujah since she and the Nightshades had killed Billy Leary. It did not take a rocket scientist to predict Rayce's reaction, though. He would be furious, and would direct his rage toward the Nightshades. Now that Sasha was counted as one of the anarch gang's numbers, she would also be made to suffer.

"Do you really think he's going to be out here?" Jenni asked, referring to the man that Sasha hoped to find. Sasha's only answer was to point a block down the street, where Jenni saw four motorcycles parked on the side of the street, confirming Sasha's suspicions. Sasha started to walk down a dark alley of the Mission District, and Jenni slowly followed, made uneasy by the darkness that closed around her as she left the adequately lit street. The two women had not gone more than twenty feet when they heard voices ahead of them, in the shadows. Sasha smiled and quickened her pace, even though she was unable to see very well where she was going. Behind her, Jenni tripped on a box, and Sasha suddenly noticed four pairs of red pinpoints of light ahead of her. The young Brujah smiled, and walked down the alley into Cash's arms. She could not see her lover, but she knew nonetheless that it was him. She put on a strong demeanor, knowing that he was able to see perfectly well in the darkness, and would be able to tell immediately from her expression if something was wrong.

"What the hell did you get yourself into this time?" Cash asked after releasing Sasha from his embrace.

"What do you mean?" Sasha asked, trying her best to portray an innocent look on her face.

"I heard about the gas station," Cash answered. "I also heard that the same group of anarchs you were with when you toasted the station were the punks that whacked Billy Leary."

"You heard all that?" Sasha asked, hoping against hope that Cash would be able to understand. At the time it had all happened, it had actually seemed like a good idea. _At least the gas station did_, she thought, correcting herself. Sasha was still unable to come to grips with the fact that she could be considered responsible for the death of one of her clanmates.

"I am your uncle's bodyguard you know," Cash answered. A couple of snickers came from the shadows around the Gangrel primogen, and Sasha suddenly remembered that she was not alone with Cash.

"Close your eyes, Cash," a voice said behind Sasha. A moment later a dull yellow light filled the end of the alley. Sasha looked around her and saw Rick, Jana, and Carl standing in the alley with their primogen. Jenni stood behind Sasha, apparently finding safety in her shadow.

After a moment Cash opened his eyes, having ended the use of his vampiric night vision. It would have been extremely painful had he not done so before the light was turned on. "Why are you here, Sasha?" Cash asked.

"What did my uncle say?" Sasha asked, ignoring Cash's question. "Did you all have a meeting already?" The thought that Rayce may have been able so soon to get Julian to call a meeting of the primogen frightened Sasha. It was at one of these meetings that they would have called for a blood hunt to punish the Nightshades for the death of Billy Leary. Sasha did not doubt that Rayce would have asked for such a sentence.

"There was no meeting," Cash responded, immediately calming Sasha's fears. "Julian heard that Rayce is seeking the Nightshades in order to destroy them. He has decided for now not to act against Rayce's decision. He figures Rayce should have some right to control events in his clan." Sasha's heart immediately dropped as she realized that Julian had, in essence, sanctioned Rayce's decision to kill her. How had Rayce convinced Julian that he had the right to kill the prince's niece? Sasha could not imagine what would have been said, what promises Rayce would have made in return. Perhaps, she realized, Julian did not care for her after all. Perhaps it did not concern him that Rayce would kill her in the near future.

"Why are you here, Sasha?" Cash asked again.

"I need help, Cash," Sasha replied, grabbing the Gangrel's jacket and burying her face against his chest. "Rayce wants to kill me."

"What?" Cash replied, not believing the words. Not long ago, Rayce and Sasha had been very close. In fact, Cash had felt threatened by the Brujah's presence, as it seemed that Rayce was trying to steal Sasha away. Cash had then started to greatly dislike Rayce. He felt that the Brujah was power-hungry, and was simply going to use Sasha because of her relationship to the prince. Over time, though, Cash had seen that this was not at all the case. Rayce had been able to come to power without ever taking advantage of his friendship with Sasha. Ever since Rayce had gained the position of primogen, he had become more and more distant from Sasha. Ironically, as his friendship with her had degraded, his friendship with Cash had increased. As a result, the Gangrel and Brujah clans were closer than they had ever been. The cost, though, was that Sasha had fallen to the wayside.

"I'm one of the Nightshades now," Sasha said, explaining Rayce's reason for wanting her dead. The whole situation instantly made sense to Cash. Not in the sense that he had any idea what kind of thoughts had crept through Sasha's mind to make her want to join the anarchs, but in that he suddenly understood why she felt she had received a death sentence. He had to admit that her fears seemed well founded.

"What the hell did you get involved with those punks for?" he asked. He could not believe that Sasha had thought that the Nightshades had ever seen her as a friend. He suspected them of using her for the same reasons that he had once suspected Rayce of using her. She provided a conduit directly to the prince.

"They're my friends," Sasha answered. "Now Rayce wants us all dead. Can you help me?"

"What do you want?" Cash asked. He realized immediately that the blood bond he had developed with Sasha made it impossible to deny her any assistance. He cursed himself silently for having been so foolish. Trouble had followed this young Brujah her entire life. It was inevitable that eventually she would take Cash with her. The strong feelings that had resulted from his sharing of blood with her made him all too willing to throw himself upon the grenade that Sasha had unwittingly unleashed.

"Protect me," Sasha answered. "You're the prince's bodyguard. I figure you must know what you're doing."

"Yeah," Cash answered grimly. "I guess I do." He ran his fingers through her hair, trying to calm her down, letting her feel as if everything would be all right. "I won't help your friends, though," Cash continued. "I don't particularly like them. If you're in danger, I'll protect you, but they can rot in hell for all I care." Sasha looked up at Cash with surprise, not having expected this reaction. She had simply assumed that if he helped her, he would also help her friends. She had even dared to hope that he would bring the entire Gangrel clan in on her side.

Cash looked into her eyes and instinctively knew her thoughts. She had looked to use the blood bond against him. What she did not realize was that though the bond effectively made it impossible for him to deny her aid, it did not take away his ability to think rationally. He would not bring his clan into this Brujah civil war.

"Why don't you guys go home," Cash said to the other three Gangrel with him, the remainder of Theo's brood. Since their sire had been killed by the Sabbat, they had all latched onto Cash as a sort of surrogate father. "Bring the kid with you," he continued, gesturing to Jenni. "There's no reason to get her involved in all this."

"I already am," Jenni responded. "You think the prince would let an abomination like me continue to exist if Sasha is dead? The only way I live is if she survives."

Cash's mouth almost dropped open as he heard Jenni speak. He had had no idea that the child had understood her situation in the kindred community so well. Since she knew that her life would be forfeit should Sasha ever die, Cash realized it would be futile to try to convince her otherwise. "Fine," he said, figuring that they might as well keep Jenni around. She could become useful as a spy, or, at the very least, as a human shield.

"I want to stay, too," Jana said. "I think we all do." She immediately looked to her two blood brothers for confirmation, and found it immediately in their approving expressions.

"No way in hell," Cash said immediately. "I will not take my clan down this road."

"We lost Theo, we don't want to lose you, too," Rick said quickly. "If you're going into battle, we're going with you." Cash looked at Theo's three childer, and saw the determination in their eyes. He knew that there would be no way to convince them to stay out of the situation, so he simply nodded in reply and started to walk out of the alley toward the waiting motorcycles.

****

VI

"That wasn't such a chore, now was it?" Michelle asked her new friend as she opened the second-floor window of Pasquale Iannetti. With a wide grin she replaced her lockpicks in her backpack, and gestured for Ruby to follow her into the gallery. The Toreador seemed reluctant to follow the Gangrel inside, but after a moment's consideration, she figured a minor transgression of the laws would be justified in this case. She desperately wished to study one piece in particular.

The gallery was every bit as ordinary as Johnny had said it would be. Michelle looked around the second floor walls, noting all of the prints that were on display. Ruby walked quickly past her, and also began to scan the walls, using a small penlight. Although Michelle was unimpressed, Ruby was captivated. The love and appreciation of the arts that was so much a part of her Toreador blood reveled in the presence of such aesthetic beauty. She almost giggled with pleasure as her eyes passed over prints by Dürer, Miró, and Kandinsky. She stopped for a few moments to appreciate a Picasso, and then continued on her quest through the gallery.

"What are you looking for?" Michelle asked, knowing that unless it was a large, neon sign, she probably would not be able to pick it out from any of the other works on the wall. Art was never something that Michelle had appreciated. She had only suggested the excursion to the Toreador so that she could get a source of information inside one of the clans. She desperately wanted to play games behind the scenes the way that everyone around her always seemed to.

"There's a print by Rembrandt on display," Ruby replied absently to Michelle's question, still looking at each work of art. It was exhilarating for the Toreador to finally be inside Pasquale Iannetti. She had wanted to come to the gallery for four months now, but was unwilling to come during business hours. Rayce, who recently seemed to fancy himself a patron of the arts, had recently bought the gallery. Ruby refused to pay admission and further line the pockets of the clan that she felt had stolen this gallery from the Toreador.

Michelle simply shrugged in response to Ruby's short description of the print, and began to look for anything that might be somewhat valuable. She figured it would be nice to take a souvenir of the night, and maybe also make a profit from what had originally been considered a business venture not at all associated with monetary gain. She ignored the prints, feeling that they were all rather ugly. Michelle then stopped as she saw a display of ceramics. She examined them for a second, and then saw the name 'Picasso.' She carefully started to open the display to take the small work, since it was the first piece she had found that was done by anyone she had heard of. As far as she was concerned, if she had heard of the artist, then he had to have been really huge. That would mean it was certainly valuable.

Deciding that the print she was looking for was not on the second floor, Ruby went to the stairs, and started to walk down toward the entryway. As soon as the Toreador reached the first floor, Michelle heard the alarm go off. "Fuck!" she cursed, half under her breath. She was certain that she had not been the one to set off the alarm, and knew, without even looking for her friend, that the stupid Toreador had gone downstairs without her. Michelle had even stressed to Ruby the fact that there would be other security devices on the first floor that she would have to deal with once they were inside. The Gangrel raced down the stairs, her experienced eye immediately noticing the motion sensors that were over the front door, facing into the gallery. She also noticed Ruby, standing transfixed, gazing at a print on the wall. Michelle assumed that the Toreador had found what she was looking for.

"Ruby, let's go!" Michelle shouted. "The cops will be here any second." No sooner had she said the words than Michelle noticed a couple of shadows moving outside the front door. "Ruby, now!" she yelled, hoping her friend would hear her. She knew, however, that it was unlikely she was getting through. The Toreador were infamous for losing track of the world around them when they were faced with a particularly interesting or beautiful work of art. There were even stories of Toreador that had become so absorbed in an item of beauty that they had lost track of time, and had been caught outside by the morning sun. Michelle grabbed Ruby's shoulders, tearing her attention away from the print on the wall.

"What's going on?" Ruby asked, suddenly noticing the alarm.

"Shut up!" Michelle said softly, covering Ruby's mouth as she ducked out of view of whoever was at the front door. A moment later, the glass of the front door was shattered, and a bottle of gasoline came flying in. It broke on the far wall, and was followed quickly by another, this one with a lit rag in the top of it. Before it even broke against the wall, consuming it in fire, Michelle was pulling Ruby up the stairs. Michelle had reached the fourth stair, using her vampiric blood to speed her movements, before she felt the heat of the fire on her back. Ruby's motion suddenly stopped, and Michelle realized that her friend had succumbed to the Rötschreck, the innate, primal fear of fire that is universally felt by all vampires. Michelle turned back to get her friend moving again, and was immediately overcome by fear herself. Both women sat completely paralyzed in terror as they watched the fire begin to consume the room below them.

Smoke and heat started to filter up into the stairwell. Michelle's mind cried out that she should start running as quickly as possible, but she found herself unable to move. Her legs would not respond to her mind's desire. Suddenly, the entire gallery went completely black. Michelle could still feel the heat, and was aware that she was surrounded with thick, black smoke, but there was no longer the dancing, orange light of the fire. The absence of the visual effect of the blaze was enough for Michelle to once again dig deep within herself and find the willpower to start moving again. She tugged on Ruby, but the Toreador was not able to overcome her fear as the Gangrel had. Michelle simply picked up the Toreador, threw her over one shoulder, and raced up the stairs as quickly as she could. Once they were out of the stairwell, Ruby started to come around, and wriggled free of Michelle's grasp and settled down onto her own feet.

Both women raced toward the window that they had entered through, and out to the roof of a building across an alley from Pasquale Iannetti. The lights of approaching police cars could be seen, so Michelle decided that the two of them should take off as quickly as possible. They ran across the roof of the adjacent building, and then across two more and watched below as the police sped up the street. Five motorcycles started up and sped away in the face of the approaching police, and both women were surprised to see Sasha on one of the bikes. Ruby did not miss the implications of the sight, and dashed off by herself, leaving Michelle behind to watch the show.

"Nice job," a voice said from behind Michelle once Ruby had gone.

"I didn't set off the alarm," Michelle said immediately. "I'm not that careless."

"I know," came the reply from the shadows.

"You put up the darkness effect, I assume," Michelle replied to her friend, Johnny Yashida.

"Yeah, but if it wasn't for the fire, I never would have interfered," he said with a thin smile. "You know that, right?" Johnny had hoped that everything would go well with this little break in. While he had full faith in Michelle's ability to handle a job as simple as this gallery, he was suspect of the proposition of allowing a Toreador to accompany her. He had come along in case something had gone wrong, but had hoped that Michelle would be able to handle anything on her own. He hoped she believed him when he said he would not have gotten involved if not for the fire, and its resulting effect on her. She needed to feel as if her friend and mentor were not constantly watching her.

"I know you wouldn't have done anything," Michelle replied with a smile. She grabbed him in a tight embrace and let out a light chuckle. "You just wanted to make sure nothing went wrong, because you wouldn't know what to do if I ever didn't come back to you after one of these break-ins."

"Yeah, that's it," Johnny replied with a touch of sarcasm. "I don't know how I would make it through my life if I didn't have to keep an eye on you."

"Did you happen to see what happened?" Michelle asked as she looked down to see the fire trucks responding to the blaze. "I mean, who started the fire? Something tells me that wasn't the cops responding to the robbery alarm. I don't think Molotov cocktails fall under standard procedure during investigation of a theft."

"It was Sasha and her new friends," Johnny replied, shaking his head in disgust. He could hardly believe it when the group of women had arrived outside Pasquale Iannetti. He finally had an opportunity to track them back to their haven. Then they had started the fire, and Johnny was forced to go back and make sure that Michelle got out safely. In the process, he had lost his chance. It was worth it, though, he thought. As much as he played tough around his friend, he really could not imagine what he would do if he did not have to spend such a great deal of his life watching over her. It helped fill up all of the spare time that immortals were inevitably faced with.

"Why would Sasha burn down a gallery that her own clan went to so much trouble to get?" Michelle asked. "It doesn't make any sense."

"The Brujah are at war with each other," Johnny replied evenly. "And with that Toreador bitch having seen Sasha ride off from here, every clan in the city is going to know that Rayce is vulnerable. Things could get very interesting, and this time I won't be able to help him."

****

VII

"She's here, sire," Douglas Hart said formally to Patrick Collins, the primogen of the Tremere clan within San Francisco. Collins only nodded in response, not even revealing his satisfaction to his first childe. A half-hour earlier, Lillie Langtree had called and asked for a favor, and Patrick had required her to come to the chantry in person in order to make her request. He wanted the opportunity to study her body language as they spoke, and a phone conversation would not have allowed him that privilege.

Lillie walked into Patrick's study slowly, her eyes taking in every inch of the decor. Collins could tell that the Toreador primogen was impressed with what she saw, from the paintings and sculptures, to the antique furniture, and down to the Oriental rug. Patrick smiled inwardly, appreciating the fact that a Toreador of Lillie's age saw elegance in the room where Collins spent most of his time.

"What is it that you wished to speak about?" Patrick asked. He leaned back in his chair as he gestured for Lillie to take a seat in front of him. She declined the offer, electing to stand. At first, Patrick thought that Lillie wanted to be able to hover over him, gaining a slight psychological advantage in this exchange. He noticed, however, that she was looking straight down, avoiding all eye contact. It was then that the Tremere realized that the Toreador primogen was considerably nervous about being there. Even the primogen of the other clans was anxious about being in a chantry, the home of the Tremere. Patrick smiled slightly as Lillie still stood in silence, seeming to choose her words carefully. _What would she say if she saw the true chantry?_ Patrick wondered. The foyer, Patrick's office, and the stairs and hall leading to it were considered the only parts of the building that outsiders could see, and were decorated with the entertainment of non-Tremere in mind. The horrors of the warlocks' power were kept from the prying eyes of others.

"I need some money, fast," Lillie responded, "and you're the only one I could think of to go to." As she spoke the words, she felt as if she were making a deal with the devil himself. True, she realized, she had an opportunity to repay Rayce for what he had done to the Toreador, but was vengeance truly worth putting oneself into debt to the warlocks? For the time being she figured it was, although she was certain she would regret her decision.

"What do you need it for?" Patrick asked evenly. He assumed that she was planning on building a new club or gallery, but he wanted specifics. Most of all, he wanted to know why she could not simply go to Julian for the capital she needed. Everyone in the city knew that their on gain-off again thing was on again.

"I don't think you need to know what I'm doing with it," Lillie answered. "It is a matter that only concerns the Toreador."

"I don't think I can just give you money without knowing where it's going," Patrick responded coyly. "What are you not telling me Lillie? Are you on drugs?" Collins allowed a thin smile to cross his lips as he asked the question, and Lillie responded, obviously becoming more at ease. She moved to the seat that Patrick had indicated moments earlier, and slowly sat down.

"I want to retake the clubs that Rayce took from the Toreador," Lillie said, watching Patrick carefully to gauge his response. Of all of the kindred in the city, Patrick made her the most uneasy. Unlike the others, he seemed completely unaffected by her beauty and seductive allure. All that seemed to be important to the primogen of the Tremere was power, and Lillie knew that any interest he had in her was only in gaining position for himself and his clan. She knew she would have to play on that fact but found it extremely hard to do as his eyes bore right into her.

"So you are asking for quite a bit of money," Patrick replied. He knew now why she could not go to Julian. If the prince were to fund one clan's takeover of the business interests of another clan, it could very likely lead to an all out war. No one wanted that. It was bad for business, and Ventrue princes were mindful of never hurting business.

"Yes, a lot of money," Lillie said, hoping she could avoid the actual numbers for a few moments. She wanted to somehow cushion her request a bit. Patrick sat in silence for a few moments, appearing to mull the decision over.

"I do not believe I can do this favor for you," Patrick finally said. "If Rayce ever learned that I helped finance a takeover of those clubs, it could cause some tension between the Tremere and the Brujah. Right now we have a good relationship, and I would hate to destroy that." Patrick laughed to himself, knowing he left out the important fact that the reason the Tremere and Brujah had such a good relationship was that the Tremere had funded the Brujah takeover of these same clubs only a year before.

"Please," Lillie asked again, making sure she prevented her voice from sounding as if she were begging. "Rayce is vulnerable right now. He won't have the opportunity to check on who is attacking him until it's too late."

"Vulnerability is a relative term," Patrick replied. He had no idea what Lillie was talking about, and wanted to find out more without asking her directly to explain how Rayce was vulnerable. It would have shattered the mystique of the Tremere as being all-knowing wizards.

"Civil war within a clan is as vulnerable as one can get," Lillie answered, completely missing the fact that Patrick had been in the dark as to what was going on. She, like most others, assumed the Tremere would have known all along, even though she herself had only found out shortly beforehand when Ruby had run in to the Haven to tell her the news.

"It is not all that unusual within the Brujah clan," Patrick replied without missing a beat, appearing as if this were a conversation he had already had with the members of his own clan. "This infighting is common to the rabble. They'll fight it out for a few days, and Rayce will be in an even stronger position than he was when it all started."

"I doubt it," Lillie answered, still missing the fact of Patrick's ignorance of the severity of Rayce's situation.

"I'll tell you what I can do," Patrick said, deciding that getting involved may in fact be a good idea. "Funds are tight right now, but I can probably supply you with about five million dollars. That should be enough to get one or two of the clubs back. If you're careful, you can then get enough money to finance another takeover or two on your own."

"What are the terms?" Lillie asked, afraid of exactly what Patrick would want.

"Fourteen percent annual interest," Patrick replied, "plus a favor."

"What?" Lillie asked. "I could do better than that at a bank."

"Then go to one," Patrick said evenly. "Just make sure to cover your tracks well. I hear Rayce has a lot of contacts in the San Francisco banking industry. It would be a shame if he were able to know what you were up to, and be able to take actions to prevent it."

"Ok," Lillie replied. "but I'll only go for twelve percent."

"Done," Patrick responded in a heartbeat. He had actually been willing to go as low as ten and a half, so he felt himself lucky.

"Just make sure you keep it quiet."

"I'm Tremere, Lillie," Patrick replied with an almost sinister grin. "Despite what others may think of us, we are capable of subtlety if it suits our needs." Collins looked her over for a brief moment, relishing the fact that he had the Toreador primogen at his mercy. Not that he was overly impressed by this fact, since he held San Francisco's Toreador in fairly low regard, but it was a feeling of satisfaction all the same. "The money will be available for your human contacts tomorrow morning," he added. "I trust you will be able to have someone in the banking community force him out."

"Absolutely," Lillie replied. She had a ghoul that would be able to call for a balloon payment on a couple of the clubs, and she knew that Rayce would not be able to afford to pay, given that he was now at war. He would probably dump the clubs immediately, rather than hold onto them as long as he could through the legal system, as he would doubtlessly need money for weapons. Besides, Lillie thought, with the way Sasha and her friends were behaving, it was likely that any businesses that Rayce held would get burned down anyway. He was just as well off letting them go. At least, that's how Lillie figured she would play the situation were she in Rayce's shoes. She simply hoped he would see it the same way.

The Toreador primogen rose from the seat and slowly walked out, not bothering to sway her hips as she would for any of the other kindred in the city. She knew that Patrick Collins would not appreciate the beauty of her female form.

As soon as Lillie had gone, Patrick called for the clan to assemble in his office. Once they gathered, he informed them of the situation. "The Brujah are at war with each other. I want to know more about it. Mario, Adam, find out what you can." The two Tremere immediately stood up and walked out of the study, knowing they would be filled in about the rest of the meeting at a later time. What mattered most, as far as they were concerned, was fulfilling the orders of their superior. "Lillie is planning to take back the clubs that the Brujah took from them. Once again, we are funding the buyout."

"That could cause some serious problems if people start to find out," Stephen said. "We could have two clans at our throats before we knew what to do about it."

"Yes," Patrick agreed. "We'll just have to make sure that that doesn't happen. For the meantime, though, the opportunity was too great to pass up."

"What opportunity?" Phineas asked.

"We will cause the Toreador to enter the war that the Brujah are fighting," Patrick said. "I have been concerned about the Brujah lately, and nothing would satisfy me more than to have them taken down a few pegs. At the same time, we will be decreasing the Toreador population, since if they go into battle with the Brujah, they will doubtlessly be cut to pieces. Their large population is starting to worry me." Phineas nodded in understanding of Patrick's scheme to have his opponents all fight each other.

"Lillie wanted enough money to buy back all of her lost clubs," Patrick continued, "but I didn't think it would be in our best interests to let her have it. Besides the fact that we don't have several million dollars to throw around, I have the added motive of wanting to give her a reason to come back."

"What if she doesn't?" Stephen asked. "It may have been better to get her in debt to us as much as possible right now, and not take any chances on what might be. You're too busy playing games." The challenge to Patrick's methods did not go unnoticed by the primogen, and he answered quickly.

"I realize that you are used to taking direct action in the face of any problem," Patrick said smoothly. "I am, I will admit, sometimes a little slow to follow such a course, preferring to instead make sure that I have exhausted all of my nonviolent options. I have found that once force is resorted to, any options that do not rely on force suddenly become ineffective. Rest assured, however, that direct action is very much in my plans. You should be very pleased with what I have in mind."

CHAPTER 3

****

I

Sasha and Jenni walked out from the room that they were using within the Nightshades' haven. Both had gotten a good sleep, which surprised Sasha. She would normally have expected to be somewhat restless, between the stresses of being in a new environment, and also having her clan members looking to kill her. However, something about the whole situation seemed oddly normal and comforting. She thought about it for a few moments, and decided that it was probably a result of her Brujah heritage. Something inside her screamed out to embrace the chaos that surrounded her. Sasha decided it was inevitable that she would be engulfed in the events that were going on. Perhaps it was best if she just accepted it all willingly. She looked down at Jenni, the young girl that was still not yet fully trained in using her vampiric abilities. She was vulnerable, and would certainly die if someone did not watch over her. Sasha's maternal instincts kicked in for a brief second, and she realized that not only did she desire this conflict, she needed it, and she needed to protect Jenni as a result of it. There would be no more taking part in the battles with Rayce halfheartedly. She would throw herself at her clanmates until either she was dead, or Rayce was.

As they both walked into what passed for the living room in the deserted tenement, the two women encountered the Nightshades sitting on the floor around a map of the city, apparently discussing strategy. "What are you planning?" Sasha asked as she sat down next to Jeri, the youngest one in the group.

"First things first," Butterfly answered. "We all know that it's been hard for you to join us, to turn against Rayce and your uncle. We just wanted you to know how much we appreciate your faith in us. We all voted, and decided to make you and Jenni members of the Nightshades. You are now officially one of us."

"Just like that?" Sasha asked. "It's that easy?"

"Hey, it's not like we're Sabbat," Melinda replied. "We like to be a little more rational than those freaks. No sharing of blood is necessary here."

"And what exactly do you have against the Sabbat?" Jenni asked, her voice surprisingly venomous. "I was created by the Sabbat."

"What?" Melinda asked, unable to hide the shock on her face. "I thought you were Brujah."

"You thought wrong, bitch," Jenni answered, her hand slowly moving to the pocket of her denim jacket, where she hid a switchblade. Rather than allow herself to be frightened by the vampires around her, Jenni decided to defend where she had come from.

"Cut it out, both of you," Kazz said quickly, drawing her sword and looking at both kindred menacingly. "We are all Nightshades, we don't fight amongst ourselves."

"She's not a Nightshade," Melinda replied. "She's not Brujah, she can't be one of us." Melinda brushed her blonde hair out of her face and stared straight into Jenni's eyes, hoping to intimidate the child. She failed, and Jenni's own caustic return gaze forced the Brujah to turn away.

"You don't know she's not Brujah," Butterfly answered. "I've already discussed Jenni's situation with Sasha. The child does not know which one of the Sabbat could have sired her. None of them claimed her as his own. However, while the Sabbat abandoned her, one of our Brujah sisters raised her. While she may not be Brujah in blood, she is in attitude. That's good enough for me."

"Damn straight," Sarah agreed. "I have no problem with her. What, are we going to start with the infighting, and divide ourselves up like those Camarilla dogs?"

"We're better than that," Erin commented, releasing her grip on the .38 special she had grabbed when the tension had started to rise. "Melinda, are you telling us that you have a problem with the belief system of our gang?" Erin asked her oldest childe. She sincerely hoped the situation could be completely diffused, and that Melinda could be removed from any chance of danger. While each member of the group was fiercely loyal to the others, they all knew that Butterfly had her heart set on fighting this war, and would allow no one to stand in her way. She had been planning their trip to San Francisco for two years, ever since she had heard that a Brujah splinter bloodline, the Telemon, had been accepted on the city's conclave. While she had initially come to the city looking to knock them from power, she had instead found the structured system within the Brujah clan to be an abomination of the highest degree, and had temporarily abandoned her previous designs to deal with the Brujah. Erin doubted that Butterfly would allow Melinda to stand in the way.

"I'm sorry," Melinda said, sounding genuinely contrite. "I thought that Jenni was claiming to truly be Sabbat, not just to have been embraced by them. I thought she was saying they had raised her before Sasha had gotten a hold of her." She looked at the faces of all of her friends, and hoped that her false apology would suffice. "Like you said, she may not be Brujah by blood, but she is by attitude. I have absolutely no problem with her."

"Good," Butterfly said evenly. "With that out of the way, we can get down to business. We have pretty much decided that there is no way to end this war easily," she said to Sasha, filling her in on their previous discussion. "From what I've already seen of Rayce, I don't think he's going to even consider making peace with us. I doubt he'd let his whole disciplined scheme fall apart, allowing us our freedom."

"Yeah, that's not very likely," Sasha agreed. "So what do we do?"

"We're going to have to kill him, just as we originally figured would be necessary," Butterfly answered nonchalantly.

"Good luck," Cash put in as he walked into the room, having finally arisen for the night. "Would you prefer to be buried or cremated once he has disposed of you?" he asked Butterfly, his amusement at her bravado being displayed in his wide grin. "If you think you can defeat him, you're out of your mind. I'll bet he could take any four of you." While Cash had been raised to hate all Brujah, he had to admit that Rayce had earned his respect. He had even learned to trust the Brujah primogen as much as he had been able to trust any of the other clan heads. That had been a large step for him.

"He won't get the chance," Butterfly answered. "I'm no idiot, and if there's one thing I'm good at, it's fighting a war. Trust me. It's what I was meant to do." Cash simply shrugged in response, not wishing to follow up on what he thought were the anarch's delusions of grandeur. The only people he had ever heard talk like that were the Telemon, and Butterfly certainly did not seem like one of their number. If she wanted to fool herself, he would not stand in her way.

"Obviously," Butterfly continued, "Rayce is very strong, both personally and in his position. If we were to take him on, he would beat the piss out of us. What we need to do first is hit him with a war of attrition. We'll obviously win, since there is nothing for him to take away from us. All of the few resources we have are readily replaceable. His, however, are not."

"You're planning on destroying his businesses," Sasha concluded.

"Absolutely," Butterfly confirmed. "Without his businesses, he'll get no revenue, and therefore won't be able to buy fancy weapons to use against us. He also won't be able to buy influence in the mortal community. Who knows, we might even take out some of his clan members when we destroy some of his places."

"Yeah, until you decide to destroy a place that he happens to be in," Cash said, trying to throw a wrench in the works of Butterfly's plans. "Eventually, he'll force you into a standup fight, and you can't beat him. You don't have the soldiers."

"He's right," Erin agreed. "Have you heard about the people that Rayce has embraced? His second in command is a SWAT team sniper. He has a former government assassin working for him, and word has it DeRosa was in the same line of work. Things could get a little hairy." Sasha nodded in agreement with Erin, having been the one that had passed on the information. While they had been lucky in getting Leary, they could not count on the fates to watch over them in the future.

"What if we go out of our way to find Rayce, and take him out?" Kazz asked. "If we all attacked him together, when he was alone, he wouldn't be able to stand against us. We could cut off the head, and watch the body beneath it die."

"It won't make a difference," Sasha said, looking as much in the dark as anyone else as to an effective strategy. Planning her clan's assaults had always been the purview of the one that they now planned to attack. "Like you said, the clan is hierarchical, but it doesn't stop with Rayce. There is a very definite pecking order, and leadership would just proceed straight down the line."

"Where are you in this hierarchy?" Sarah asked.

"Nowhere anymore," Sasha answered. "Before we killed Billy, I might have been able to make a claim if Rayce had ever been killed. Now, though, the rest of the clan would never accept me. Carter is next in line."

"Why wouldn't they accept you?" Aimee asked. "Aren't you still one of them? You could convince them that Rayce was a tyrant, and that you're giving them freedom."

"It doesn't work that way here," Sasha shot back. She gathered herself for a few moments before she continued, explaining how different things were in San Francisco as compared to the rest of California. "Virtually the entire clan in the city descends from Rayce," Sasha said. "The only ones left that he didn't embrace are Cameron's childe, Mark, and Mark's childe, Daria. They're totally on board with Rayce, though. He's given them everything they ever wanted, and has indulged their rebellious sides as long as they direct it toward an appropriate target."

"Meaning a target of his choosing," Butterfly said, disgusted. "So Rayce is completely using Mark and Daria. I think we should liberate them."

"You can't, that's what I'm trying to tell you," Sasha replied, almost pleading with Butterfly to get her to understand. "I am the only resident of the city that has never completely accepted Rayce's authority. That's why I was always in trouble. There's no one we can get as an ally."

"Are you sure that these people are even Brujah?" Butterfly asked, not able to believe what she was hearing about what Rayce had built. "This is not the way of our clan. Maybe Rayce is Ventrue, pretending to be Brujah. That would explain a lot of things – the high finance, the expensive European suits, the structuring of his power, everything."

"No Ventrue would claim to be Brujah," Cash retorted. "I don't care what he might think he could get out of such a charade. It would just be too repulsive for a Ventrue to consider." Cash looked the Nightshades over for a few moments, making sure that they were following his logic. "Accept it, you're faced with the worst thing that you can possibly imagine – a Brujah that grew up. Unlike you, Rayce wasn't content to be a reckless adolescent for all eternity. He actually went out and got an education and a job. No wonder you don't like him."

"Shut up," Butterfly shot back. "I don't have to take this shit from you. You're not doing anything for us, you're just here to keep an eye on your precious Sasha."

"Watch how you speak to me, whelp," Cash shot back. "Those are my Gangrel that are outside the building, making sure you don't get surprised by any Brujah that may have found you. It would be a shame if Rayce's boys came here and were able to get in unnoticed. You'd really have a problem then, wouldn't you?"

"Don't waste your threats on us," Butterfly spat back. "You can't frighten us."

"Stop it!" Sasha yelled, desperate to end the quarrel between her ally and her lover. "We still haven't decided what we're going to do."

"I know what we'll do," Butterfly muttered in response. "If we can't make a difference by killing any one of them, then we'll kill all of them. We'll destroy their businesses, and then we'll cut them to pieces."

"We already covered this," Sasha said.

"Yeah, you don't have the soldiers for that strategy," Cash chimed in. "Face it, you're screwed. Why don't you just kill yourself?" He wished there would be a chance of Butterfly actually following his advice, but knew it was futile. However, he did enjoy the look of irritation that he received from the anarch when she turned to him once again.

"I know where I can get some kindred to join up," Butterfly replied to Cash, a wicked smile erasing the irritation on her face. "I know exactly where to get some soldiers."

"Where?" Kazz asked, wanting to be let in on the secret.

"Not yet," Butterfly answered. "Why don't you all go out and see if you can find any stray Brujah? While you're gone, Erin and I will put my plan in motion."

"Sure," Kazz replied, standing up. All of the others also stood, and made their way out to the motorcycles. Cash wished desperately that he could keep an eye on Butterfly, to find out what she was up to. He knew, however, that his place was at Sasha's side. As much as he wanted to act in his own interests, his blood bond to the Brujah woman prevented him from ever possessing any freedom of action in the latest of San Francisco's conflicts.

As they walked out, Cash remembered his cell-phone. He considered calling someone that could help him, but he had no idea who to turn to. He refused to call anyone in his clan, as that would only bring the Gangrel into the fighting, which was something Cash refused to even consider. Rayce was obviously also out of the question. The only person left that Cash could think of was Julian. Cash wondered whether he should turn to the prince for help. He could tell Julian that he and Sasha were spies, that he should not act against them. Cash shook his head, rejecting the idea. He would not go to Julian for aid. Cash had seen a change in Julian recently. Indeed, since Caitlin's death, the prince had been more wrapped up in his power games than he had ever been before. In some ways, he seemed more like Archon than the friend that Cash had thought he had found in Julian. No, the Gangrel finally decided, he would have to find his way out of his situation on his own. There was no one he could turn to. All that mattered was that he keep Sasha safe.

****

II

The 1979 Chevy Camaro pulled up outside of the Campbell-Thiebaud Gallery in North Beach and two men got out quickly, not bothering to stop the engine. From behind his dark sunglasses, Stephen Jackson looked the building over, deciding that the two-story carriage house had been perfect for a gallery supported by the Toreador clan. He heard the trunk of the Camaro close and looked back to see Adam Stewart opening a small overnight bag, filled with Molotov cocktails.

"You're just going to throw a couple of those things through the window?" Stephen asked his youngest childe, not seeming impressed with the strategy. Adam had come to be an excellent demolitions expert, having a special talent as an arsonist. He was, for some reason not fully understood by either his sire or any of his blood brothers, not affected as greatly by the Rötschreck as most vampires. Although he never said so, Stephen suspected that Adam had been a pyromaniac as a mortal, an imperfection that would have destroyed any chance for entry into the Tremere clan if it had ever been revealed. As it happened, his psychosis had not been discovered, and Stephen had learned to make effective use of his childe's talents. Patrick Collins had also seen Adam's value, and had chosen him especially for this particular job.

"Patrick wants it to look like a Brujah attack," Adam answered. "What do you want me to do, break in and set the place up with some fancy accelerants, then drop in an incendiary grenade? It would seem a little too high-tech to be believable. Collins says the whole city still thinks of the Brujah as thugs, even though Rayce maintains that he's so much more. In this case, high-tech might not be best."

"At least I would know for sure that that plan would work," Stephen replied, revealing how dubious he was about methods that seemed so crude.

"The place has hardwood floors, and there are oil paintings on the walls," Adam said with a smile. "Trust me, that place will burn down to the foundation." As soon as he finished speaking, he lit one of the rags sticking out of a bottle, and threw it through the front window. A moment later, another one followed, and then a third was thrown through the second floor glass. As he had promised, the flames spread quickly, and Stephen was forced to climb back in the car and avoid looking at the fire, his own primal fear of the blaze starting to overcome him.

A scream suddenly pierced the relative silence of the night, emanating from the interior of the building. Stephen heard the trunk slam shut again, and the driver's side door opened. "Sire, I think someone is still inside," Adam said, not appearing overly concerned about the fate of the individual.

"It is one of us," Stephen said, knowing that only a vampire completely overcome with the Rötschreck could release such a cry of primal terror. "Let's go," he continued, "any lost members of the Toreador clan will only increase Lillie's resolve." Adam got into the car and started down the street as fast as possible, passing the first police car that was approaching the scene. As Adam drove, Stephen allowed his own mental approval of Patrick's plan. Indeed, he had found that although Patrick sometimes seemed hesitant to rush into a fight, he was a master at working behind the scenes. This instance was no exception.

Patrick had heard upon awakening that Lillie had reclaimed Cafe du Nord during the day. The club was one of the trendiest spots in the city, and had been considered her greatest loss when the Brujah had moved against the Toreador. The club offered her the opportunity to take a bar that she had once used as a speakeasy during prohibition and create a location where a different flavor could be experienced every night of the week, from jazz, to alternative rock, to swing music, to salsa. Several bands had gone on to a modicum of success after having started at Cafe du Nord, and Lillie had been able to reap the benefits. Now it appeared as if she would once again.

Patrick figured that Rayce would know exactly who was behind the takeover, no matter how careful Lillie was to cover her tracks. Although it would have been out of character for Rayce to have struck back against the Toreador in such an open and reckless manner under normal circumstances, the fact that he was at war would lend some credence to Lillie's inevitable conclusion that it had been the Brujah, seeking revenge, that had burned down one of her favorite galleries. The crude manner of the burning would only increase her certainty. She would most likely never suspect the Tremere. Now the Toreador would most likely become involved in the Brujah civil war.

There were other motives also at work in the Tremere primogen's mind. When Patrick had first heard about what was going on, he had been concerned about the lack of any worthwhile soldiers on the side of Sasha and Butterfly. While everyone knew that Cash was with the Nightshades, he was there only to protect Sasha. Since he would not aid the anarchs, the one worthwhile kindred on Butterfly's side was not even to be considered as a factor against the Brujah primogen. Patrick feared that Rayce would be able to swoop in and destroy his foes before they really did much to unsettle the situation, so he decided that he would set the Toreador against Rayce's Brujah as well, forcing them to split their resources. This would increase the chaos, and give the Tremere a greater chance to advance their own power.

There was, of course, one last element that Patrick had considered almost as important as any of the others in burning down the gallery. When his grandsire, Robert Boccaccio, had arrived in San Francisco, he had attempted to claim North Beach as Tremere territory. Although this plan had been denied by Julian Luna, the other clans had predictably moved virtually all interests out of that section of the city once they heard that the Tremere were planning on setting up shop there. Only the Toreador had kept a business alive in North Beach – the Campbell-Thiebaud Gallery. With that gone, the only kindred remaining in North Beach would be the Tremere, a situation that made Patrick Collins very comfortable.

****

III

Rayce walked into his private haven slowly, searching around for any sign that it had been discovered at some point within the past year. He hardly went to the apartment anymore, preferring to keep its existence a secret from any that might plan to set a trap for him. Of the kindred in San Francisco, only Sasha had ever seen the interior of his home, and he had permanently erased her memory of the entire event. At the time he had done so, after fleeing from a pack of garou, Rayce had felt somewhat guilty. He had initially liked Sasha very much, finding her inner strength to be extremely endearing. He had considered her a friend, and had not thought he would ever need to go to his hidden abode in order to escape from her, to find a respite from the chaos that she brought into his clan.

The Brujah primogen opened the door beyond the spartanly decorated entryway, and walked onto a plush Oriental rug. He strode over to a bookshelf and pulled out the one book in particular that he had wanted to see for a couple of days – his diary from the first half of the fourteenth century. He opened to near the end of the book, where he could read about the civil war that had engulfed the Brujah clan. He glanced quickly up to the wall, looking over the broadsword that he had wielded at the time. He wondered if there was still any trace of the blood of the many enemies that he had carved up during that conflict so many years before.

Despite his efforts to suddenly push these thoughts from his head for centuries, he continuously went back to them. He had come here for a reason, to purposely relive those times, and remind himself of the oath that he had taken. It had been a dark time for the kindred. The Inquisition was starting to grow into a dangerous movement, and many of his kind still lived very much in the open, foolishly daring the mortals to come and challenge them. The kindred did not yet appreciate just how dangerous a mob could be, let alone a true vampire hunter. There had been so many slayers in those days, all armed with the most modern weapons and the knowledge of how to use them against the kindred. Many of his kind had learned too late just how effective a crossbow could be against a vampire. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of the elders of every clan were rooted out and burned, beheaded, or left for the sun.

The Brujah clan decided to do something about the situation. Always the scholarly warriors of the kindred world, it appeared as if they would be the best equipped to come up with a solution to the problem and implement it. The elders met in Rome in the winter of 1348, and the debates began, continuing for many months. Finally, the discussions ended as it was discovered that there appeared to be three contingents of the Brujah present at the meetings. One had claimed to be the true line, descending from Brujah. They claimed that the second group descended from Troile, an ancient vampire that had killed and diablerized Brujah, gaining the elder vampire's power. Although the descendants of Troile were also descendants of Brujah, they had vastly different abilities and demeanors. The descendants of Troile were extremely emotional, given to sudden rages, while the "true" Brujah were anything but emotional. Predictably enough, the rash descendants of Troile began a war of extermination against the Brujah that they considered to be false.

The third group had attempted to intervene. The youngest of the three bloodlines, they claimed descent from a kindred known as Hadrubal, the last of Brujah's childer, and one of the most influential kindred in the formation of Carthage, the fabled dream of the Brujah that was a center of freedom, commerce, and learning. Hadrubal had himself diablerized one of his elders, gaining the power to form his own clan. However, his line remained true to the principles of the "true" Brujah, and disagreed with the position of the descendants of Troile. The Troile Brujah realized this, and refused to have the descendants of Hadrubal be a mediator, as they doubted their impartiality. The descendants of Hadrubal were then also pulled into the fray. Being a small, insular group, they did not have the mortal contacts of the "true" Brujah, and when their allies were able to disappear from view, evading the descendants of Troile, the descendants of Hadrubal had remained exposed. They had been chased across Europe, all the way into Britain, evading other Brujah as well as the Ventrue that had wished to stop the fighting since it had initially broken out in Rome.

The descendants of Hadrubal, Rayce's line, had been almost completely exterminated. All but three of the clan's elders had been lost, and those that survived went into hiding and had not been heard from since. The younger members of the clan, like Rayce, had since been able to mix back into Brujah society, using it to cover their tracks while they aged and grew stronger. Now Rayce finally felt as if he was on the verge of achieving the dream of his elders once again. He had taken over the Brujah in San Francisco, and had embraced intellectuals and soldiers with discipline, rather than the revolutionaries and criminals that the clan was commonly known for. He felt as if he was close to building a new Carthage in the Bay Area, which was itself also a center of trade, freedom of expression, and thought. He would not, could not, allow Sasha to intervene. He would be damned if he would allow a whelp to destroy a dream that was millennia in the making, and that he had himself been working toward for centuries.

Despite having to kill Sasha, though, he was also faced with destroying the Ventrue that had been most responsible for the deaths of his elders, including his own sire, who had been incapacitated, hung from a tree, and left to be disintegrated by the sun. Basil Romanov had come to San Francisco, and Rayce did not plan on allowing him to leave. Rayce had already hunted down Nicodemus the Praetor, the Ventrue that had been the Justicar that had called for the slaughter of the Brujah. He had waited centuries and cornered Nicodemus in 1653, when he was acting as an archon for his sire, who had also been elected a Justicar. With the death of Basil the Butcher, the souls of the destroyed Brujah would finally be able to rest in peace. Basil, however, could burn in hell for all eternity as far as Rayce was concerned. He had sworn it centuries before, and would not be diverted from his purpose.

****

IV

Cash sat alone in the corner in Chalkers, the pool hall that the Brujah had been using as a hangout for several years, watching the Nightshades play pool on three nearby tables. He had never been inside the hall before, and now had to admit to himself that he had had the completely wrong impression of the place. Whenever he heard about a pool hall, he had always envisioned a large, smoky room full of teenage punks and several rows of pool tables. By no means did Chalkers fit this description. Its rich, Victorian decor, complete with polished wood, was more what he would expect of a Ventrue gathering place rather than the prime hangout of the Brujah. He looked around at the clientele of the early evening crowd, many of them well-dressed businessmen that were unwinding after a long day in nearby offices. It was then that Cash understood the reason for the Brujah interest in the establishment.

Several of the men at a nearby table were leering at Erin as she slowly circled one of the tables, looking for a shot. She smoothly swayed her hips back and forth as she moved, apparently oblivious to the attention that she was receiving. Cash knew better. He could tell from her expression that she was well aware of the looks that were being cast in her direction. In fact, she was enjoying it. Many of the female Brujah had probably come in here over the years, inciting similar reactions from men who were interested in "slumming it" for a night. That had probably given the male Brujah the opportunity to start a stolen car ring, Cash mused, recalling the row of expensive imports lined up on the street outside. While the men stole the cars, the women would probably feed, ensuring that everyone would have gotten something. The large amount of money in the richly decorated establishment had probably also helped the Brujah in their drug trade. The more he thought about it, the more Cash wondered why Rayce had ever started to frown on Brujah presence in the place. Only Sasha was really interested in going to Chalkers anymore.

"So you gonna sit here by yourself all night stud?" Butterfly asked Cash as she came over and sat on the Gangrel's lap.

"You have about three seconds to get your sorry ass off me, you spacey bitch," Cash replied coolly. A moment later, Butterfly's devilish grin disappeared as she felt Cash's Glock dig into her ribs. "Are you going to finally give me the reason that I've been looking for to add a few more decorative holes to you?" Cash asked.

"Point made," Butterfly said in a disappointed tone as she stood up. "I only want us to be friends." While she maintained her flip demeanor, she had been intimidated more than she would have liked to admit. The sheer animalistic ferocity traditionally possessed by Gangrel was displayed in spades on Cash's face. This did not sit well with the younger anarch.

"I'd rather go camping with a pack of garou," Cash muttered in reply, fixing his gaze once more on Sasha. He reminded himself that he was there to protect her, and not to banter with anarchs.

"There you are!" a voice shouted suddenly from the entrance to the pool hall. Everyone looked up suddenly from the tables to see Shelly standing in the doorway, four other Gangrel in tow. She pointed her Glock threateningly at Butterfly, fighting to hold back her rage. "You're gonna die, bitch."

"What the hell are you doing?" Cash said quickly, rising to his feet. "Put that gun away!"

"Those crazy dikes on bikes burned down my apartment building," Shelly said through clenched teeth. "Not just my apartment, Cash – the whole goddamn building. They deserve to die." Butterfly smiled as Shelly made the accusation. They had indeed burned down the whole building, although they had only intended to torch her apartment. Unfortunately, she thought wryly, the Gangrel had not been considerate enough to post her apartment number in the lobby. Butterfly and Erin had had to burn the entire building down in order to make sure they got Shelly's apartment.

"You kill them, we kill you," another voice said. Cash looked to the side of the room and saw Lana standing by the side fire exit, along with Rick and Jana. "Our primogen supports the Nightshades. If you go against them, you go against our whole clan."

"I don't support them," Cash said quickly, trying to defuse the situation. He saw immediately, however, that no one in the room seemed to be paying attention to him. They all had other issues that they were bringing out into the open. Ever since Shelly's return there had been some Gangrel that had wanted her to become primogen of their clan. She was as old as Cash, and her blood was just as potent, so she could make a valid claim. In the end, many of Cash's clanmates had grown sick of him spending time with his 'Brujah bitch.' Shelly's hatred of Brujah had not been quenched in the friendship that Cash had formed with Rayce, and she finally seemed ready to make a play against the current primogen of the clan.

"They're just Brujah anarchs with a flashy name," Shelly shot back, glancing continually between Butterfly and Lana, not sure who to direct her attention toward. Things had quickly gotten out of control for the Gangrel. Cash knew exactly how Shelly was feeling, having gotten herself into a situation that she did not know how to get out of, but he was unable to help her. She was now operating on instinct, instinct that had been shaped as soon as Stevie Ray, the same man that had embraced Cash, had embraced her. Shelly had been in the city during the days of Eddie Fiori, and knew the hatred of the Brujah that the younger Gangrel were not taught to feel. Part of Cash sympathized with her, as he also felt some of the same old animosity, but things had changed, and he had tried to change along with them. He had had to, for Sasha's sake.

"So what?" Lana countered.

"The Brujah are scum," Shelly answered quickly. "You're just too young to remember what they're really like."

"Like they were really like," Cash put in, stressing the past tense. He tried to give Shelly an excuse to simply leave, despite his certainty that it would not help.

"They're going to die," Shelly repeated.

"How do you know it was them?" Cash asked, though he himself found it easy to believe that they had done it. Butterfly and Erin had both been out of his sight for a few hours the night before.

"Who else would burn down an entire building just to get one person?" Shelly asked incredulously. "That's so Brujah. I could have been incinerated."

"Like, duh," Erin said with a thin grin. "That was sorta the entire idea. Imagine our disappointment to see you walk in here tonight." Shelly fought hard to keep from firing on the Nightshade, knowing that she was faced with superior numbers, and would be hard pressed to escape if she started a fight. Butterfly smiled at her childe's lie. It had, in fact, not been their goal to kill Shelly. They had hoped to cause this very confrontation, and so far her risky plan was working like a charm.

"Why don't you both lower those guns?" Cash asked, looking from Shelly to Lana.

"No," Shelly answered. "I want vengeance."

"It's not yours to give," Carl said, walking in behind her, immediately turning his MAC-10 toward the clerk, preventing him from calling the authorities. "If you do this, you'll break up the Gangrel clan. We'll be just like the Brujah."

"No," Shelly answered. "This will solve our problems." She hoped to get all of the Gangrel to realize that Cash was unfit to lead, that she should be in charge of the clan.

"If you fire at the Nightshades, Cash will have to fire at you," Rick said to Shelly from Lana's side. "We have to maintain the peace. We can't have you running around, shooting up the city. We'll all have to choose sides, and we'll choose to support the Nightshades, just like our primogen."

"The hell you will," Cash replied quickly. "If you want to maintain the peace, you'll support Rayce."

"That won't work," Lana said. "If we support Rayce, then we'll be fighting you. We'll also have to fight Shelly, since I'm sure she won't join Rayce, given her attitude toward the Brujah."

"You can bet your ass on that," Shelly confirmed, still glaring down the barrel of her pistol at Butterfly.

"We all have to join one side," Carl said. "We'll have to fall in with the Nightshades."

"No," Cash replied, finding himself in complete confusion. He looked around at all of the weapons, and felt increasingly uneasy. He had been in worse situations than this, but could not bring himself to focus on what was going on. Something about what everyone was saying seemed totally wrong, but he was unable to figure out what it was. He could not bring himself to analyze the situation logically.

"It makes sense," Carl said from the entrance. "We have to side with Shelly or Butterfly. You've chosen sides, and we're going to join you."

"No," Cash repeated, his conviction obviously fading. He wanted to explain it all to his clanmates, to make them all understand how wrong this all was, but he could not even figure it out for himself. It seemed just out of reach. "Shelly, put the gun down," he repeated, noticing through his confusion that his blood sister looked as befuddled as he did.

"Ok," she replied. She lowered her arm, and started to look between her clanmates, her friends. Despite her anger, she was unwilling just yet to start a fight with fellow Gangrel. She knew she would have to get the Nightshades alone. If the other Gangrel decided to avenge her actions, then guilt would rest on their heads.

"I'm glad that's all over with," Butterfly said sarcastically. "I was really feeling nervous for a second."

"Yeah," Erin agreed. She then looked over toward Shelly again, a wicked grin forming on her lips. "You need a place to stay tonight Shelly? I mean, since you're a fucking homeless person and all? I just bought a new tv, you know. You could use the box if you'd like."

"Bitch!" Shelly screamed, suddenly seeming to have regained her violent focus. The confusion was gone, and she raised her Glock once more and opened fire, catching Erin three times in the chest, sending her sprawling on the floor. Within moments, Lana, Rick, Jana, and Carl were also firing, returning shots at Shelly and the four Gangrel that had come in with her. The Nightshades also drew their weapons, and started firing at any Gangrel they saw, no matter who it was. Only Cash was saved from their attack.

"Stop it!" Cash shouted, running toward Shelly. She responded by unloading the rest of her clip into him, dropping him to the floor. The renegade Gangrel then ran out the door with her four cohorts, feeling lucky to have made it out of Chalkers alive. Cash slowly stood and looked the place over, realizing the extent of the rift that suddenly existed in the Gangrel clan.

"Oh my God," Lana mumbled, just seeming to gather what had happened. Carl had a similar look of shock on his face. "What now?" Lana asked Cash, dropping her gun to the floor.

"We have to stop her," Cash said evenly. "We can't allow the clan to remain divided."

"And we won't fight you," Lana reiterated.

"Then you have to get Shelly back to our side," Cash replied.

"Looks like we're going to be chums after all," Butterfly said, coming up to Cash and putting her arm around him.

"Fuck off!" he said curtly, turning and shooting her twice, putting her down on the floor. "We happen to have one slight area of common interest. We are not allies."

"Whatever you say," Butterfly said coldly, concentrating on healing her wounds. She knew, however, that in reality the Gangrel would function as allies to her. If Rayce and his Brujah attacked her, they would also find themselves firing on Gangrel. The Gangrel would be forced to return fire, helping to defend the Nightshades from their own foe. While the Gangrel would not attack, they could be used to defend. For now, that would be enough.

The Gangrel and the Nightshades walked outside, and Butterfly looked up at the roof across the street. She saw the outline of two men dressed all in black against the slightly lit San Francisco sky behind them, and she grinned. The Tremere had come through, just as they had promised they would. They had been able use their blood magic to confuse the minds of the Gangrel, leading to the gunfight. Now both Butterfly and Patrick Collins had what they wanted. Butterfly had allies, and Patrick had chaos, from which he believed he would be able to build a new order. Of course, Butterfly realized, she would eventually have to deal with Patrick, too, but that was a matter for another day. For the time being, she could allow herself to enjoy a brief moment of victory.

CHAPTER 4

****

I

Julian looked across the coffee table at Daedalus, who was closely examining the chessboard that had held their attention for three hours. Playing chess had been an escape for Julian many years before, but he had not played in a long time. In the face of civil wars in two clans, though, he was left with only playing simple games of strategies. He believed in the Masquerade, the greatest of kindred laws which was placed in jeopardy by the strife within the Gangrel and Brujah clans, but he realized he was powerless to stop it. There was an old saying, he thought, that a little revolution every now and then is a good thing. He smiled at the truth of the phrase. The battles would help to shed the bad blood that existed both within and between the clans. Perhaps it was better to simply let the ill will escape, rather than be forced into repression for several more decades. Daedalus finally moved his remaining knight, threatening a pawn that Julian had been using to protect a bishop since the beginning of the game.

"I saw that coming," Julian muttered truthfully, trying to decide which of his three moves would offer him the greatest advantage.

"Sometimes it is far easier to predict events when they are limited to a game board," Daedalus replied. He had once again expressed his displeasure at the way Julian had let things get out of control, but he had not offered any constructive advice as to how to alleviate the situation. That, Julian knew, was very unlike the Nosferatu.

"I don't know how to handle this," Julian responded, his voice sounding incredibly defeated. Indeed, during the week since the Gangrel clan had fallen apart, joining the Brujah in chaos, Julian seemed to have gone through a hundred strategies that he could employ. Every one had the chance of only making things worse, however. He did not want to risk plunging the whole kindred population of the city into anarchy if he could avoid it.

"Perhaps you are right," Daedalus said, his voice almost bitter. "There is not always a ready solution to every problem. Sometimes you have to wait until an opportunity presents itself for you to deal with a crisis."

"You sound like you speak from experience," Julian replied, castling his king, the rook being brought across to protect the pawn that Daedalus was threatening. Julian had always wondered how the leadership of the Nosferatu was accomplished, whether it was through force, democracy, or some other means. Daedalus had seemed to offer him an opportunity to pry into his personal affairs, and Julian took it. "Have you ever faced a situation like this in your own clan?" Julian asked.

"No," Daedalus replied. "However, there have been many mysteries beneath this city, and not everything is ever fully explained." Julian noticed immediately that something was on his friend's mind, but as usual, Daedalus did not seem willing to share his concerns with the prince.

"Is something going on, Daedalus?" Julian asked.

"Nothing that need concern you," Daedalus replied softly, bringing out his queen to threaten Julian's other rook, which had been moved forward to protect Julian's own queen. The prince immediately saw that the Nosferatu's threatening of the pawn had been a feint. His true target was the queen, which he was three moves away from taking. The Ventrue cursed himself for not having seen it sooner.

"If it could concern my city, it concerns me," Julian responded, his tone alerting Daedalus that he had shifted from the role of friend to that of prince.

"It does not appear to be anything of significance," Daedalus replied. "If it turns out that I am I wrong, I will tell you." The Nosferatu then leaned back, realizing from the look on the prince's face that his response had been accepted.

Julian smiled thinly, confident that Daedalus could handle anything. He knew that the latest problem probably had to deal with the nightly breaking of the Masquerade, but he did not want to start guessing in order to find out for sure. Daedalus valued the secrecy of his clan's affairs, and Julian respected his privacy. "How would you deal with this whole situation?" Julian finally asked, wanting to take a bit longer before committing to a move on the chessboard. He could see that there was nothing he could do to save his queen. The only decision he had left in the game was whether he wanted to force Daedalus to lose a rook and a pawn, or a bishop and a knight.

"I assume you are asking whether I agree with your decision to keep letting them fight it out," Daedalus replied. His eyes slightly betrayed his surprise as he realized the possibility behind Julian's question. "Are you beginning to lean toward supporting one side or the other?" he asked, wondering to whom it would be that Julian lent his support. Secretly, the Nosferatu wanted any aid to go to Rayce. The new Brujah primogen had done much to decrease the Brujah flaunting of the law of the Masquerade, a law that Sasha had never treated with much respect.

"Basil is starting to make it necessary," Julian answered curtly. "He's been going out every night, against my orders, killing one member from one of the two sides, alternating each night."

"And you have forbidden this?" Daedalus asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes," Julian replied, knowing how weak it made his rule seem. He could not even control the members of his own clan. Of course, he could fall back on the technicality that Basil had claimed the princedom of Oakland five nights earlier, and was therefore not under the official control of Julian. However, he knew that he should be able to control his borders better than he had. Besides, Julian admitted silently, Basil had not actually even been to Oakland. He was yet prince only in name. It would probably be a great deal of time before he was ready to move in.

"Why do you not stop him?" Daedalus asked. "Are you afraid that you would not be able to?"

"Maybe," Julian answered truthfully. Indeed, he knew very well what would happen if he attempted to stop his "uncle's" actions in the city. He was certain he could not actually win, and if he survived, he would still lose all prestige, and the entire city would fall into chaos. At least, of course, until Basil came in and consolidated it under his own dominion. Fear was not the only reason, however. "As long as he's out there, though," Julian added, "he might be able to end this thing more quickly."

"Meaning you can use him to do your dirty work," Daedalus concluded with a nod. "You could then use the excuse that he was your sire's blood brother, and that had been your reason for not taking action against him. You could almost have the best of all possibilities. You could have the conflict ended quickly without having to choose a side, and without much blame for having supported one side or the other. At least not until Basil starts killing one group more than the other."

"He won't," Julian said with a slight air of disgust. "He wants the war to drag on for awhile, so he refuses to greatly weaken either faction. He's having too much fun killing Brujah."

"He could be a threat, Julian," Daedalus commented, already knowing that the prince was thinking the same thing.

"I think Basil is concerned about the Telemon," Julian said, purposely leaving out the fact that Basil actually seemed to fear the Tremere, possibly more than he feared anything else. Julian could just not bring himself to speak the name of the warlocks' clan.

"They want to get involved," Daedalus returned quickly, referring to Matt Reimer's militant cohorts. "It might be a good idea to let them."

"No," Julian answered quickly. "I have two primogen fighting, one on each side of this war. If one side is supported, I'll probably lose one of them. Neither the Brujah nor Gangrel are stable enough to withstand that right now."

"Two primogen?" Daedalus asked, knowing that Julian had skimmed over the facts.

"Ok, three," Julian admitted, referring to Lillie. The Toreador had come in on the side of the Nightshades after one of her galleries had been burned down. Her reaction demonstrated the low esteem in which she held the Brujah. Apparently, a few Molotov cocktails had been thrown in the front window in order to start the fire. Julian knew that such tactics were well below Rayce's standards. Had the Brujah primogen desired to torch a Toreador gallery, he would have been far more professional. Lillie, however, had not realized this when Julian tried to explain it to her. In her mind, the Brujah were still thugs. True, she had admitted, with Rayce as their primogen they were thugs in rather tasteful suits, but she saw them as thugs all the same. Only Julian had been able to appreciate the full extent of the change in the Brujah clan. To him, and apparently no one else, it was obvious that Rayce had not attacked Lillie's gallery. He found it baffling that nobody else had seen this. He could only assume that Butterfly had actually committed the attack, using the same methods she had used against one of Rayce's own galleries. Julian wondered at the wisdom the anarch would have shown in choosing the Campbell-Thiebaud Gallery. She would have almost had to expect Lillie's reaction. A loose cannon capable of making crafty decisions was the last thing he needed in his city.

"Sire," Sonny said softly from the doorway, having just walked into the room. "There are people who wish to meet with you." Julian looked at his childe quickly, surprised at first to see him in the mansion so early in the night. Sonny had always been working at this time, but after the Gangrel had started fighting, Sonny and a few of his ghouls had taken over a great portion of the security on the grounds.

"Who are they?" Julian asked, knowing he had no scheduled appointments. By the fact that Sonny had not used any names, Julian knew that they were no one that he knew.

"I'm not sure," Sonny responded quickly, "but I really think you'll want to speak to them."

"Fine," Julian replied, noting the anxiety in his childe's voice. That unsettled Julian slightly, as he had never seen Sonny shaken. Even during the Sabbat siege of the city, Sonny had not gotten afraid. Although, Julian thought, Sonny had been too furious the entire time, as the Sabbat had killed his childe, Frank Kohaneck. Sonny walked out the door, and Julian looked over to Daedalus, who seemed as curious as the prince was himself.

Sonny returned a few minutes later followed by a row of seven men, all dressed in black jeans, tight fitting black tee shirts, and combat boots. Julian looked them over, not feeling overly impressed, when one of them went over to a corner, lifted a chair, and brought it in front of the prince. He then sat down, his right foot tapping, seemingly in beat to some music that played silently in his mind.

"Who are you?" Julian asked, containing his shock at the casual demeanor of his visitors.

"My name is Metairie," the man responded, his foot suddenly stopping its tapping. The six men with him slowly began to encircle the back of the chair, all of them glaring at Julian. "You may have heard of me – I'm the Brujah Justicar. These men with me are my archons."

Julian's jaw almost hit the floor in response to Metairie's statement. He had, of course, heard of the Justicars, and had even heard of this one. Archon, Julian's sire, had mentioned Metairie's election as the presiding judge of the Brujah. Archon had always kept a close eye on everything that the Brujah did. He had never trusted the rabble.

All in all, Julian had to admit that the appearance of the man in front of him did not fit the image that he had always had of the Justicars. They were the highest authority in the Camarilla outside of the Inner Circle, holding dominion even over the princes. Metairie had the authority to sentence Julian to death if he so desired, and his archons would be within their rights to carry out the sentence. Of course, Julian would have to commit a crime before this could happen, but he was sure that Metairie would be able to fabricate evidence of one if he so chose. The prince would have to be on his best behavior.

"What do you want here?" Julian asked politely after a moment of thought. He knew damn well why the Brujah Justicar would be interested in a city in which there was a Brujah civil war, but he just wanted to hear Metairie say it. He wanted to see if the Justicar held anything back. Julian suspected that Metairie's true purpose in the city would be to increase the level of chaos, so that Julian would fall from power and San Francisco could join the other major California cities as a Brujah anarch free state.

"I don't need to discuss my business with you," Metairie said quickly. "I'm the Justicar, and you're the prince. You have to do as I say. It says so on page 37 of the Justicar Handbook, under the heading 'Watch How Princes Everywhere Will Kiss Your Ass.' " Metairie smiled, as did his Archons. Julian held his tongue, feeling as if this were not the first time that the smug Brujah had played this game. "All you need to know, Luna, is that I'm going to deal with the little war that you have proven to be so incapable of handling. I will analyze the situation, and then pass judgement."

"What did you have in mind as punishment?" Julian asked, leaning back and folding his hand in front of him, portraying the confidence of one who is in control of the situation. He felt that he should at least act the part, even if it were not true. Metairie simply smiled in response to Julian's action.

"I'm going to sentence one of the sides to death," Metairie responded simply. "What did you think I was going to do? What, would you prefer I simply assign one side to detention every night for the next century or something? Get with the program, you yutz."

"I see," Julian replied, concealing the rage that was building within him. He glanced over at Daedalus, and saw that the Nosferatu primogen was apparently also willing to smack the Justicar around for his insolence. However, he had thus far also been able to restrain himself.

"Can I ask you one question?" Metairie asked as he stood up.

"Sure," Julian replied with a slightly exasperated sigh.

"How in hell have you been able to hold this city, anyway?" Metairie asked with a smile. "I mean, really. You're not very bright. Why don't you get Uncle Fester there to run the show for ya? Or is that why he's here now, to explain things to you in really small words?" The group of kindred walked out the door, laughing as they went.

Once they were gone, Julian vented his rage on the chess board, sending it flying against the far wall, splintering the board and breaking several of the pieces. He glared across the table at Daedalus, not able to hold back his anger any longer.

"I know," Daedalus said. "They are uncouth little animals, like the rest of their clan." He watched the rage slowly fade from the prince, and then let a small smile cross his face. "You know, destroying the board will not save you. I memorized where all the pieces were. I will win the game yet."

"I don't think there's any way to win this game," Julian muttered in response, knowing things had gone from chaotic to apocalyptic in the course of fifteen minutes.

****

II

K.T. sat on the bed of his apartment in Bayview and looked the place over. After ten years, he was actually using the place again. Archon had been prince the last time K.T. had been in San Francisco. While all but one of the clans' primogen had remained the same, the general population had almost completely turned over in the wake of several wars. There were also two new clans that had not been in the city during K.T.'s last visit. The addition of the Telemon and Tremere had made things quite a bit interesting. Lastly, he noted, the slew of anarchs that had been in San Francisco up until the point that he had left were also either extinct or had fled for their lives. The world of the kindred was generally considered to be rather static for decades at a time, K.T. mused, but the Bay Area's kindred had recently seen more upheaval than its mortal inhabitants had.

A lot had changed in ten years, the Gangrel thought as he paced the room and looked out the window again. As he looked out at the lights of the city at night, K.T. focused inward. Perhaps the greatest change had not been in the city, but in himself. At the end of the eighties, K.T. had been alone, and enjoyed every minute of it. He had had no responsibilities to anyone. He had done as he wished. Now that was no longer true, he admitted, looking toward the streets below, hoping to catch a glimpse of his friend approaching his apartment. Erica had disappeared almost as soon as the sun had set, leaving a note saying that he should remain there until she returned. It had been almost four hours since sunset, and K.T. was getting tired of waiting. Once again he was painfully aware of the change – he would never have tolerated such an inconvenience during his last visit to the city. Still, he reflected, he would not be able to enjoy himself nearly as much were he to ever be alone again. He had gotten used to having company. He would miss Erica terribly if he ever lost her.

As if she had heard his thoughts, Erica suddenly opened the front door and walked in, two dry-cleaning bags slung over her shoulder and a plastic bag from Revco in her left hand. As she saw him, she smiled. K.T. allowed himself to enjoy her smile for a moment before he asked any questions. He was sure that, as usual, once she began to speak he would start to lose some of the affection he held for her before she attempted to get him to along with one of her irresponsible schemes.

"Glad to see you finally woke up," the Ventrue said, hanging the concealed clothing on the bathroom door. She walked up to K.T. slowly, and produced a packet of Bic razors from the bag. She hoped that he would shave the stubble that was eternally a part of his appearance, so that just once she would be able to feel comfortable being seen in public with him.

"What's this?" K.T. asked, looking from the razors to the Ventrue. She realized immediately that her hopes would be as difficult to achieve realize she had feared.

"Razors," Erica explained. "You use them to shave." She spoke slowly as she opened the package and held one out for K.T. to examine.

"Thanks," K.T. said, taking the razor and placing it on a coffee table in front of him. "Why are you giving me these?" He could not even imagine why Erica would bring home a package of razors. He had never shaved before. Then it dawned on him – she wanted to go somewhere that the image he portrayed would not be acceptable. Although he did not speak, his reaction said volumes. He would not allow Erica to make such a drastic change in his appearance. He had gotten used to the stubble. After all, it had been on his face for decades.

"You haven't shaved since World War Two," Erica replied, her voice betraying her realization that she faced an uphill battle. She had almost started to beg. "Besides, we're going out. I'd love it if just once you looked presentable in a suit." She gestured quickly to the garment bags on the bathroom door, but K.T. missed her gesture, instead getting hung up on her words.

"Suit?" K.T. repeated with obvious distaste. "What suit? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Remember that bet in Vegas?" Erica asked. She had one last card to play, and realized she should probably do so quickly, before K.T. could talk himself out of her plans.

"Oh, come on, that was just a joke," K.T. protested. He left out the fact that he had fed upon an extremely intoxicated gambler just before he had made his bet with his friend. K.T. would never admit that he had ever been drunk. It went against the calm, cool, and collected Gangrel image that he always felt the need to portray.

"It wasn't a joke," Erica countered with a grin, knowing that K.T. would eventually back down. "We're going to Café du Nord." K.T. slumped back in his chair, remembering that Café du Nord was trendy enough for Erica to demand that he make himself presentable with the type of people she enjoyed mingling with. Despite what he wanted, he would be made to suffer. He was sure of it.

"And guess what?" Erica asked, hoping to increase K.T.'s enthusiasm. She waited for a minute, and realized he would not be answering her. "It's swing night!" she yelled enthusiastically.

"Don't do this to me," K.T. pleaded, dropping his face into his cupped hands. Erica's only response was a broad smile. She had won. She crossed the room and grabbed the front bag on the bathroom door.

"Here's your suit," the Ventrue said, walking slowly to the Gangrel and handing him one of the dry cleaning bags.

"I don't want to know how you bought this, do I?" the Gangrel asked, his voice sounding defeated. Erica produced a credit card from her pocket.

"The American Express Card," the Ventrue replied with a slight giggle. "I never leave home without yours."

"Great," K.T. muttered, rising from his seat and snatching the card back. "Any other pieces of plastic with my name on it floating around in your purse or your pockets?"

"MasterCard?" Erica answered, hesitantly taking K.T.'s credit card from her pocket. The Gangrel took that one too, and then looked from the suit to Erica. "So come on, try it on," the Ventrue suggested happily.

"Do I have to?" K.T. asked, holding the suit at arm's length.

"You try that on, and I'll go put on my dress," Erica said. "I got this really great black number that makes me look just like a flapper!" K.T watched her walk into the bathroom, noting that she was swaying her hips more than usual.

"This can't be happening to me," K.T. grumbled under his breath, hoping that at any moment he would wake from some dark, twisted nightmare.

"Payback for all those cheap Stevie Ray Vaughan-playing biker watering holes we visited over the last three thousand miles," the Ventrue said with a smile as she began to close the bathroom door behind her. "Come on, you'll enjoy it. It'll be just like Vegas, only no roulette tables for you." She blew him a quick kiss and pulled the door closed. She silently wondered if she would also be able to talk K.T. into cutting his hair for the night, but thought better of such an attempt. It would be best, she realized, to not press her luck.

****

III

Patrick sat in stunned silence behind his desk, gazing at the equally disbelieving visage of Stephen Jackson. "You are absolutely certain of this, I assume?" he asked Douglas Hart, not sure how he actually desired his childe to respond.

"I've already double-checked their identities with our superiors," Douglas explained, confirming the urgent news that he had come to his primogen with. The Brujah Justicar was indeed within the city. How he would react to and affect the war that the Tremere had been fueling was anyone's guess.

"What do we know about him?" Patrick asked his childe, knowing that Douglas would have found out all he could before coming to this meeting.

"He was declared Justicar eleven years ago," Douglas began, opening a small notebook so that he could verify all of the facts that he gave his sire. "He is rather young, only embraced about 150 years ago. He grew up in Louisiana, just north of New Orleans. We don't know much about his early years, but there have been suggestions that he fought in the Mexican War shortly before he was embraced, and then in the Civil War shortly thereafter, so it is safe to assume that he has been in a few battles in his lifetime.

"I also found an unsubstantiated report that he knows someone who is a high-ranking member of the Sabbat. That's apparently the reason he was made Justicar. The Brujah elders, as you know, have grown weary of their youngest members joining the Sabbat. Apparently, Metairie was appointed to bring some semblance of order to the clan here in the Americas. He'll probably want to end this quickly. I don't expect him to make any long term plans, though. He's simply elder-endorsed muscle. I don't think he's the brightest bulb in the pack, if you know what I mean."

"What about his archons?" Patrick asked, ignoring Douglas' little joke. He knew that the strength of a Justicar's coterie spoke more about his ability to handle a situation like San Francisco's war more than anything else would. After all, Metairie would need to be able to enforce whatever decision he made.

"They are also all rather young," Douglas answered quickly. "We do not know for sure, especially searching for the information on such short notice, but it looks like they are all between seventy five and a hundred years old. I don't know how much of a threat they could possibly be."

Patrick nodded as he considered the possibilities. Generally speaking, kindred were not a very large threat until they were at least a hundred years old. Often, they had survived for several centuries before they were truly considered formidable. However, there were exceptions. The Brujah more than any other clan had the ability to become physical threats before the members of most clans. The abilities that Brujah derived from their blood were strongly combat oriented. Additionally, Metairie had become a Justicar at an almost unheard of young age. That would speak volumes about his ability. A Justicar's archons were almost always his childer, so it seemed likely that the archons would also be adept in combat, if nothing else. However, the question still remained as to just how powerful they had become. The most potent young vampires that Patrick had ever seen belonged to the Telemon clan, and they were rumored to have sprung from the Brujah. If this Justicar in his younger days had been anything like the Telemon that Patrick dealt with on a daily basis, the situation could get rather dodgy.

"Where are they now?" Patrick asked, hoping that his clanmates had been able to locate and track the Justicar and his brood.

"We lost track of Metairie," Douglas said evenly, knowing his sire would be displeased. "It seemed as though he was expecting to be followed, and he lost Hawkins somewhere in the Mission District. The archons seem to have dispersed through the city, presumably to look for any information about the civil war." Again Patrick nodded in response to his childe's report, his face betraying the intense concentration he was employing. Suddenly, a wicked smile spread across the face of the Tremere primogen.

"What are you thinking?" Stephen asked, desiring to hear the next sinister plot that was hatched within the mind of his devious leader.

"Find one of the archons," he instructed Douglas and Stephen, "and kill him." He looked the two men over, making sure they felt they were up to the task. Neither one showed any surprise or reluctance to undertake the assignment. "If you feel you may need anyone else to help you, then feel free to draft others as you see fit. Make sure it looks like Rayce and his faction's members appear to be the culprits." Patrick's face began to crease with his thoughts. He then let a small smile pass on his lips.

"Pick off one of the archons with tracer rounds from a rooftop," the Tremere primogen added, elaborating on his instructions. "It is well known that Carter is given to using such tactics, and that he is still Rayce's favorite enforcer and right hand. It will appear as if Rayce gave the order. Then put the body somewhere it will not easily be found, but where it will most certainly show up after a little bit of searching. We don't want it to look like a setup, after all."

"So we want the Justicar to finish off Rayce for us?" Stephen asked, the plan seeming to lead to that end.

"If Rayce lives, we'll eventually have to face him ourselves," Patrick responded. In only a short time, the Tremere primogen had come to have a great deal of respect for Rayce's strength. "I think it's far preferable to have the Brujah clan finish off its own primogen for us. If they are even able to get another primogen at all, it will probably be Sasha or some other worthless piece of rabble. If we can't deal with such a situation, we do not deserve to even be allowed to live, not to mention make a play for power."

"What about Carter?" Stephen asked. "It has always seemed like he's next in line after Rayce."

"If the Justicar wants Rayce, he'll have to go through Carter first," Patrick responded. "I don't think it should be much of a problem, either. Carter has, after all, only been kindred for a couple of years."

"It must have been wonderful having Robert Boccaccio around while you were being initiated," Stephen commented as he stood up, referring to Patrick's grandsire. "I would have loved to have been trained to dissect a situation the way you do. My sire would have simply instructed me to find a way to get them all in the same building, and then have Adam blow it up."

"That would indeed be an effective way of approaching the situation," Patrick agreed. "We could eliminate all of these annoying Brujah all in one fell swoop. However, it lacks style, and leaves us with no Brujah to toy with later on. I fear that would make life rather boring." Stephen smiled in response as he and Douglas walked out of the room.

Stephen could hardly contain his excitement. Finally, Patrick was allowing him to go out on the streets and handle the Brujah directly. The best part was, he seemed to be advancing one of his own subtle ploys at the same time. Perhaps their two seemingly conflicting styles could indeed be made to mesh.

****

IV

Johnny walked down the stairs into the basement of the Swedish American building, Michelle on his arm, and was forced to allow a smile to cross his face. It had been a while since he had allowed himself to relax, and now that he was about to cut loose, he found himself amazed at the fact that he had not had any fun within recent memory. He had been too focused on achieving his latest objective, a task that was extremely personal to him. The swing music echoed up the stairs from Café du Nord, the nightclub that Lillie had recently been able to wrest from the control of the Brujah. Johnny recognized the song that was being played as a cover of Big Bad Voodoo Daddy's 'You and Me and the Bottle Makes 3.' It had been a long time coming, he thought, for swing to make a comeback.

As the two kindred walked into the club, its small area occupied by about 200 mortals, Johnny and Michelle both looked each other over, each impressed at the style that the other was displaying. Johnny was in a black pin-stripe suit, a fedora sitting stylishly on his head. Michelle had her hair up, and was wearing a midnight blue, sequined dress cut all the way up the leg, revealing a black garter on her thigh. She grinned at her friend as she noticed him stare for a brief moment at the garter, and then immediately led him onto the small dance floor. Within moments, the two were in full swing, each perfectly able to anticipate the movements of the other before they made them.

Michelle was in the club for the first time, although according to what Johnny said, this had been one of his favorite haunts for almost twenty years. The red walls and elegant mahogany bar created a somewhat warm, though definitely seedy atmosphere. Everyone in the place was dressed to the nines, and martinis appeared to be a dime a dozen. If people continued to drink like they were, feeding would be extremely easy. As the band segued into a slower song, Johnny gestured to a shadowy corner and Michelle walked to it. She did not need to look behind her to know that Johnny was no longer with her, as he would have predictably gone up to the bar. Despite the fact that Yashida no longer got any sustenance or intoxication from alcohol, he never seemed to pass up the chance for a couple of drinks. He had always claimed that drinking in public would help convince any vampire hunters that may be watching that he was actually mortal. Michelle had always felt that this particular excuse was somewhat pathetic. In her opinion, Johnny just enjoyed the social aspects of drinking, and was reluctant to part with it. Part of her was jealous, she had to admit that much. After all, she could never again drink anything but blood. However, in the final examination, blood was all that she would ever need. She was content enough as it was.

A few minutes after she had reached the corner, Michelle saw Johnny leave the bar with a martini in each hand, and watched as he almost strutted across the room, his body swaying to the music. She smiled despite herself, knowing that Johnny was at home in this element. While the rest of his clan was full of warriors, Johnny was, at heart, just a guy who loved to have a good time with lots of fun people. Whenever he fought, she could see that the movements were still somewhat alien to him. A part of her actually felt sorry for her friend, despite the success that he had had thus far within the kindred community. He had survived as a vampire for a couple of decades, and from what she had heard, that was the most dangerous time. He would probably enjoy a long life. Michelle hoped that she would be able to share it with him. After all, the young Gangrel was nowhere near reaching the two-decade mark as a vampire. She was still extremely young and vulnerable.

"I figured you wouldn't still be alone here with as long as I took getting these drinks," Johnny said with a smile as he returned to Michelle's side.

"Oh really?" Michelle replied, pressing her mouth up against Johnny's ear so she could be heard over the music. "You think you'd get rid of me for the night that easily?"

"So you plan on having a little fun before you feed?" Johnny asked. Recently, Michelle had gotten in the habit of feeding early in the evening, and the alcohol she imbibed in people's blood had caused her to get too tipsy to have much fun for the rest of the night. If she had been mortal, Johnny would have been getting concerned that she was an alcoholic. As it was, there was still a danger of that happening. It was not unheard of for vampires to become addicted to the chemicals that they encountered in their prey's blood. He had hoped that Michelle would start to come around, and apparently she was. He looked forward to a truly enjoyable night.

"You know, five years ago I never would have dreamed that my life would be like this," Michelle said with a grin, slinking farther back into the shadows. Her grin widened as Johnny looked at her, and Michelle pulled him up close to her. He smiled in response, and downed one of his martinis in two gulps. "I did it!" Michelle shouted, the sound of her voice becoming almost lost in the music. Again Johnny smiled, knowing how proud Michelle was of her latest achievement. She had come to San Francisco to perform her first real solo job, and had succeeded beyond even Johnny's expectations.

Michelle had been spending the previous two months planning to steal a particularly attractive diamond, and had managed to get past all of the museum's guards, dogs, and state of the art security systems. However, rather than simply steal the gem, as Johnny would have, she had replaced it with a cubic zirconia that she had cut herself to match her prize. At the end of the day after the heist, there had still been no one that had discovered the theft. There was also no way of knowing if and when it would ever be discovered. If the diamond were able to pass on to the next museum on its scheduled tour, the authorities might never even be able to figure out where the diamond had been stolen, not to mention when. It was a theft that put a wide smile on Johnny's face. He had a lot of pride in the accomplished thief that Michelle had become. He just needed to show her the depths of his appreciation of her ability. Johnny raised the second martini, nodded to Michelle, and swallowed it down. He grabbed his friend's hand and led her back onto the dance floor as the band started to play 'Mambo Swing,' another Big Bad Voodoo Daddy cover. What the band lacked in originality, he thought, it certainly made up for with ability. The music was truly excellent.

As Michelle began to twirl into his arms, Johnny caught sight of a familiar face walking off of the stairs and into the club. It appeared as if he would be able to work a little business into his night of pleasure. He started leading Michelle toward the stairs, and the powerful kindred that had not yet noticed his presence in her club.

"Lillie!" Johnny shouted out as he came up behind the Toreador primogen. "What are you doing here? It doesn't seem quite like the kind of place I would expect to find you." Johnny knew very well that Lillie had just retaken the club, and was willing to guess that she wanted to check on how things were going, but he wanted to ease his way into conversation with her. She could very possibly provide him with some of the answers that he wanted so badly. Michelle glanced up and caught sight of Lillie Langtree, and immediately felt as if her night had been taken from her. She had come out with Johnny to celebrate her theft, and it suddenly seemed as if he was going to turn the evening into a business meeting.

"Mr. Yashida," Lillie answered quickly, barely able to hide her surprise at the sight of the unimposing Telemon. "I heard you were dead."

"Wishful thinking on the part of my enemies," Johnny responded glibly.

"I wouldn't have thought someone as charming as yourself would have any enemies," Lillie replied coyly, more than a little willing to engage in some pleasant banter.

"If only everyone else were able to see me for the charming person that I am," Johnny replied, a mock hurt expression spreading across his face. "Perhaps then I wouldn't have so many damn people out for my blood."

"And what kind of enemies do you have, Mr. Yashida?" Lillie asked, half-hoping she could get some useful information out of the Telemon during their friendly exchange.

"American Express credit department," Johnny answered with a smile. "Seems they think I owe them something on the order of twenty thousand dollars or something silly like that."

"It's not quite as serious as I would have thought, then," Lillie responded.

"Are you kidding?" Johnny asked. He gestured for Lillie to move closer, as if he were going to tell her a secret, and the primogen hesitantly moved toward the Telemon, ready for him to attack her. The Telemon clan had not, after all, openly declared a side in the current war. Knocking off the Toreador primogen would make an excellent first strike. "You know, I think the Ventrue might be behind the whole American Express thing," Johnny said with an extremely serious expression. "I think I might have pissed off their Justicar or something with my outstanding debt."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Lillie replied. "I don't think it's the Ventrue's Justicar that you should be worried about." Just as he had hoped, Lillie had given Johnny the opening that he had wanted in their conversation.

"So it's true?" Johnny asked, referring to the rumors he had heard about the Brujah Justicar being in the city.

"Yes," Lillie muttered, moving back up the stairs a little bit so that she could speak to the Telemon more easily. "The Brujah Justicar is in town."

"I guess that makes things a little unsteady for you, eh?" Johnny asked, his eyes probing Lillie for any non-verbal response that she may give away.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lillie asked innocently, trying not to betray more than she wanted to. Rumors around the city held that Yashida was the information gatherer of the Telemon clan. The last thing she needed was to betray all of her information to a clan that might eventually decide to work against her position.

"This grows tiresome," Johnny muttered under his breath. "Look Lillie, I came here tonight to have fun. I don't want to be wasting time with you, so you'll just get right down to telling me what I want to know." Out of the corner of his eye, Johnny noticed that Michelle had wandered off, and he could take a very good guess where she had gone. For the moment, however, he had to put his concerns out of his mind, as he would need all of his concentration to succeed in what he had planned. He looked deeply into Lillie's eyes, noting that it was surprising that the Toreador primogen had allowed anyone to make eye contact with her. He gazed intently, and was able to reach out and grab a piece of her consciousness, pulling her under his will.

"Lillie," Johnny muttered, paying far more attention to his control of the Toreador than to the volume of his voice, "I want you to tell me what you know about the Nightshades." Lillie seemed to fight Johnny's control, and Johnny redoubled his efforts. He knew well the consequences that he would face if Lillie were able to break his hold and avenge herself upon him. "The Nightshades, Lillie," Johnny repeated after a few moments, making certain that Lillie had heard and understood him.

"They're Brujah anarchs," Lillie replied slowly. "They want to kill Rayce and break down the structure within their clan. They'd probably also like to destroy Julian's hold over the city."

"Thanks for the tip," Johnny responded, allowing himself a slight smile. He would need to be more specific. "Where are they hiding out Lillie? Where is their haven?" Lillie stood silently for a few seconds as she appeared to think about the response.

"Somewhere in Soma," she answered absently, her eyes vacant. "I don't know exactly where. They don't trust me with that information." Johnny nodded in response. The Nightshades were in the area of the city just south of the Market District. While that still left a large area to cover, his search would be narrowed somewhat.

"Are they all Butterfly's childer?" Johnny asked.

"I don't know," Lillie replied. "I think so. Except for Sasha, of course."

"Fine," Johnny answered after a moment's thought. "You're going to leave now, Lillie," Johnny added. "Everything here at the club was fine. There was a great crowd, but you felt like getting some air in Golden Gate Park. You will have no recollection of this conversation, or of the fact that you saw me. As far as you're concerned, Johnny Yashida is still dead. Now go away." Johnny turned Lillie toward the exit, and walked back into the club as the Toreador primogen left.

The first order of business for the Telemon was to locate Michelle. Johnny had not been busy with Lillie for too long, so he was confident that his Gangrel friend would not have been able to get into much trouble. He looked first toward the bar, as it was often her first choice of places to hook up and feed. Not seeing her there, he scanned the room and almost fell over when he finally found her. She was out on the dance floor, dancing with a six-foot tall young man with a long, blonde ponytail. His first reaction was that she had not wasted her time in going back to her old habits, but he quickly realized that he knew her dancing partner, which only surprised him all the more. Johnny walked across the floor and up to the two dancing kindred, stretching his hand out to the male.

"It's been a long time, K.T.," he said with a smile. "I figured you would have gotten yourself killed off by now."

"Funny, I figured the same thing about you," K.T. answered, the trace of a grin crossing his face.

"What the hell are you dressed up like that for?" Johnny asked his old friend, gesturing to the white suit with black pinstripes that K.T. was wearing.

"It's better than that zoot suit you got on," K.T. answered, obviously becoming extremely self-conscious about his attire. "What's wrong with this, anyway?" he asked.

"It's not quite the same as the old duster," Johnny replied. In earlier days, only a decade before, Johnny had known K.T. to always wear blue jeans and a beaten up brown duster.

"My sidekick wanted me to get dressed up for a night on the town," K.T. responded as he led the three of them off of the dance floor and back toward the corner that Johnny and Michelle had been standing in earlier.

"Sidekick?" Johnny asked, surprised that K.T. would be travelling with anyone. He was a Gangrel, and was every bit the wandering loner that the clan was regarded being populated by. K.T. pointed to a woman walking toward them from the bar, appearing to hold a pitcher of Guinness and an empty glass. Johnny looked the girl over from head to toe, impressed at the company that K.T. had been keeping. She stood about five and a half feet tall, slightly shorter than Johnny was himself. She appeared to be only twenty, and had shoulder-length blond hair, light brown eyes, and a thin but still curvaceous figure that was flattered in every possible manner by the form-fitting black cocktail dress that she wore. Michelle noticed Johnny's stare and kicked him softly in the shins, and he smiled in response, as if his gaze had been completely innocent.

"Thanks," the girl said to Michelle as she approached the group. "I think the instruction did him some good." She then looked across to Johnny to explain. "I asked her to show K.T. a couple of steps. He's pretty hopeless on the dance floor." She grinned mischievously at K.T. and handed the pitcher to Johnny. "K.T. says you like Guinness," she said evenly, the humor seeming to vanish from her eyes.

"Yeah, thanks," Johnny responded, gladly taking the pitcher that she offered.

"You still drink?" she asked disbelievingly.

"Only on special occasions," Johnny replied.

"I didn't know life was so full of special occasions," Michelle put in, feeling slightly jealous at Johnny's somewhat flirtatious demeanor toward the newcomer.

"This is Erica Blackwell," K.T. said, introducing his companion. Johnny seemed to ponder the name for a few moments, and then looked K.T.'s companion over again.

"You ever been in New York?" Johnny asked, knowing that the name struck a chord inside him. The nearest he could place the name was in a trip he had made to New York City, right in the middle of the Sabbat's capital in the New World.

"Not that I know of," Erica answered after a second's hesitation. Johnny knew immediately that she was lying, and a sideways glance toward K.T. informed him that his old friend knew that Johnny could tell.

"So you go out dancing now?" Johnny asked, turning to face K.T. as he changed the topic.

"No," K.T. replied, displaying his distaste for his surroundings. "I'm only here because I lost a bet."

"What bet was that?" Michelle asked, trying to get herself involved in the conversation.

"Nothing," K.T. answered. Immediately Erica leaned over and whispered something in Michelle's ear, and the two women started to giggle. Johnny and K.T. were left to look on. "It really wasn't that funny," K.T. said, knowing that he was the subject of what Erica had said. A moment later Michelle leaned over and said something into Erica's ear and the two women giggled again. This time it was Johnny's turn to be uncomfortable, as he knew Michelle had just shared some secret or another.

"We're going to go powder our noses or something," Erica said to the two men, pulling Michelle with her. "Will you two boys be able to get along without us?"

"We'll manage," K.T. answered as he watched the two women walk off quickly without waiting for his answer.

"She's a handful," Johnny commented once they were out of sight into the crowd.

"You have no idea," K.T. responded with a sigh.

"So what are you doing back in San Francisco?" Johnny asked, wanting to get the skinny on his friend.

"Sightseeing," K.T. replied evenly.

"You've already seen all the sights," Johnny answered quickly. "Archon had you running all over the city for him for three years. You probably know this city better than he ever did."

"Yeah, well, Erica has to see the sights, then," K.T. answered. Johnny could tell the Gangrel was obviously hiding something, but he respected his friend's privacy enough to not pry. From the little bit that he had heard on his trip to New York, he was willing to wager that the two of them were trying to lay low. If that were the case, Johnny did not plan on getting K.T. to talk about it. One could never be sure who would overhear a conversation. "So what are you doing here?" K.T. asked Johnny in return.

"Oh, I'm sightseeing, too," Johnny replied, figuring that the pathetic excuse that K.T. had used for his visit was good enough to use himself.

"How much is it worth?" K.T. asked immediately.

"I'm not here to steal anything," Johnny replied quickly. He saw the dubious stare that K.T. leveled at him, and knew that the Gangrel did not believe him. "Really," he added, knowing the extra assurance would probably not make a difference.

"True, I don't know you all that well, but I do remember that everywhere you went, something turned up missing," K.T. said with a rare smile. "I doubt that much has changed."

"This was Michelle's trip," Johnny responded with a touch of pride. "She just did her first job all by her lonesome." K.T. hid his surprise that Johnny had taken on an apprentice. Years earlier, when the Gangrel mercenary had spent some time in Archon's citywide intelligence network, K.T. had asked Johnny for a few tips on getting past security systems. The Telemon had declined to share his knowledge, as he had seemed to feel it was not something that should be spread around. Apparently, K.T. thought, Johnny had mellowed as he aged. Either that, or Johnny's feelings for Michelle were stronger than he would have expected.

"So what else do you plan on doing tonight?" K.T. asked, wanting to spend time catching up on current events with Yashida, but being unwilling to spend more time in the loud club, surrounded by a couple of hundred sweaty mortals.

"How about Hamburger Mary's?" Johnny asked with a grin. "I haven't been there in a while. How 'bout you?"

"Lead the way," K.T. said as he saw Michelle and Erica making their way across the room.

"We're leaving already?" Erica asked as she returned to see K.T. moving toward the door.

"The night's still young," Michelle chimed in, looking to Johnny for aid in dissuading K.T. from leaving.

"And so are we," Johnny responded. "We'll have decades more to go out dancing." He moved up close to Michelle and gave her a hug, then whispered in her ear. "Besides, you keep saying that we always seem to get in trouble. Well, you should spend a night or two in K.T.'s world. Trouble always seems to find him." A grin formed on Yashida's face as he followed K.T. and Erica toward the door, and Michelle saw the Telemon's fingers deftly check the two pistols he had hidden under his jacket, as if he fully expected to have to use them. Seeing the opportunity for a different kind of fun, the young Gangrel followed the other three kindred out of the club and onto Market Street.

Once the group had cleared the club and began walking down the street, gunfire erupted from two cars parked across the road. In a flash, K.T. dropped to one knee and brought a Ruger to bear, firing at the vehicle closer to him. No sooner had he opened fire than Erica had drawn a Glock and started to fill the second car with holes. Johnny dove for cover against a Geo Prism parked on his side of the street, and immediately went to work on opening the door. Michelle drew a Beretta and started to fire at K.T.'s target once he had emptied his gun's cylinder, making sure that Johnny had room to work. By the time Michelle's clip was empty, Johnny had the door open and was tearing the steering column off of the Geo, hoping to get the car hot-wired and running before the shooters could escape.

The first car started its engine and began to pull away. A passenger in the back seat realized what Johnny was doing, and opened up on the parked Geo with an AK-47, catching the Telemon twice and making the driver's side look like a large, metallic, burgundy-colored piece of Swiss cheese. A second later the engine in the Geo started, and Michelle jumped in as Johnny tossed her one of his Berettas. She started firing three-round bursts at the escaping vehicle, and then decided it was futile, and shifted her attention back to the second car, a 1993 Mustang GT.

The second car then started its engine and moved down the street away from the four kindred. "Come on!" Johnny yelled out to K.T. and Erica. "We're leaving! Move it or lose it!" Both of the kindred ran at full speed toward the Geo, even as Johnny started down the street. Michelle climbed into the back seat and threw the rear doors open just in time for K.T. and Erica to jump in, and Johnny floored the gas in an attempt to catch up with the Mustang carrying the unidentified shooters.

"Who the hell were they?" Michelle shouted to all three of the passengers at once as K.T. and Erica busied themselves reloading their weapons.

"I don't know, what are your thoughts?" Erica answered. She had grown accustomed to being shot at everywhere she went, but this had been the first time it had happened in San Francisco.

"Are they yours or mine?" Johnny asked K.T. quickly, as if the scene were nothing out of the ordinary for either one of them.

"I don't know," K.T. answered quickly as he climbed into the front seat of the car, leaving the women in the back. "Who's after you this week?"

"Everyone thinks I'm dead," Johnny answered glibly as gunshots began erupting again from the Mustang ahead of them. "These guys must be yours," Johnny commented as he ducked down to avoid the bullets that tore through the windshield. The Telemon drew his second Beretta, smashed his window out, and began returning fire. K.T. followed suit, as did Erica and Michelle. The Mustang began to pull away, and Johnny stepped on the clutch to downshift. Out of instinct, K.T. reached down with his free hand and shifted the car into third gear, knowing that Yashida's hands were both occupied, one with his pistol and the other on the wheel. Both Erica and Michelle noticed how smoothly the two kindred in the front of the car were able to control the vehicle together while still managing to fire at the Mustang, and they began to silently wonder how many times Johnny and K.T. had been in similar situations before.

"Wait a second, K.T." Johnny said quickly as he wove his way around two slower moving vehicles, maintaining his pursuit of the Ford. "I don't know who these guys are, and you said you don't either." Without saying a word, K.T. turned to Erica while Johnny shot a quick glance to Michelle.

"What did you do this time?" they both asked in unison, leaving a look of innocence on the faces of both women.

"You sure that job was as clean as you said it was?" Johnny asked as he tore around a corner into oncoming traffic, apparently abandoning his pursuit of the Mustang.

"What the hell are you doing?" K.T. asked, taking his hand off the gearshift. He knew that as long as the Mustang was not in view, Johnny would prefer to control the Geo on his own.

"Shortcut," Johnny answered, suddenly becoming intensely focused on the road.

"How can you take a shortcut if you don't know where they're going?" Erica asked, stating the obvious.

"Trust me, I know what I'm doing," Johnny replied, producing a sawed-off shotgun from underneath his jacket. Erica looked at him in awe, not able to figure out where the small kindred had concealed so many weapons.

"Freeway?" K.T. asked quickly, seeing the route that Johnny was taking through the streets. Yashida did not answer, but continued on with no regard for the direction he was supposed to be travelling on each street. He turned a corner and was faced with the Mustang coming right at him. K.T. leaned out of his window and started to fire at the car, while Johnny put his left arm out of the window, firing at the vehicle himself. In the back of the Geo, Erica emptied her last magazine into the grill of the Mustang while Michelle simply watched the vehicle come closer and closer, beginning to realize that Johnny was intent not on playing chicken, but on causing an accident.

"Better buckle up," Johnny said evenly as he raced toward the other car, but none of his passengers had a chance to follow his advice, and the cars collided head-on. Air bags deployed in the Geo, preventing serious energy to any of the passengers. A sickening thud quickly followed the initial impact, and Johnny realized that someone had been thrown out of the windshield from the Mustang and had slammed headfirst into the Geo's windshield from the outside.

Johnny was the first one out of the car, and he immediately began searching the other vehicle for signs of who had attacked them. Blood was running freely from both of the men inside the Mustang, and the rear seat passenger, now lying on the hood of the Geo, appeared to have had his neck snapped. Yashida noted that they all appeared to have been mortal, and were all quite dead.

"Please wait until the ride has come to a complete stop before exiting, and make sure you take all of your possessions with you," Erica muttered as she fell out of the car from the door behind Yashida's. Johnny grinned as Erica spoke, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Michelle climb out the back window, which had shattered on impact.

"You broke the other door," she commented absently as she spilled out onto the asphalt.

"We'd better get out of here," K.T. commented as he climbed out of his own window looking none the worse for wear. Johnny nodded in response and started out in the opposite direction from K.T.

"They were mortal," Johnny yelled as K.T. walked up to the Mustang to see who had been chasing them. "You sure you don't know who they were."

"Must have been hunters, or maybe ghouls," K.T. yelled back as he led Erica away toward a nearby alley. He then looked back at Johnny with a dubious expression. "You positive you're only here to sightsee?"

"Have I ever lied to you before?" Johnny yelled back as he and Michelle ran up to another car and prepared to requisition it for transportation.

"That's what I thought," K.T. muttered, grabbing Erica's arm and pulling her away from the street. They ran into an alley just as the police arrived at the crash scene, and Erica turned to K.T. with a devilish grin on her face.

"I never knew you had friends that were as fun as they are," she said with a giggle. "We should hang out with Johnny and Michelle more often."

****

V

"You're absolutely certain?" Rayce asked Carter, not believing how bad the situation had become. The Justicar of the Brujah clan was in the city. Things could not have been any worse.

"What do you think we should do?" Carter asked, completely uncertain of what would happen. He had only been a member of the kindred community for a couple of years, and had thought he had already seen much of what he could expect in the centuries to come. Being the first childe of the clan's primogen had kept him close to all of the decisions that had taken place within San Francisco. He had immediately been made well aware of the political maneuvering that was a fact of life for those that sought to be a force within their world. He had been instructed on how to play those around him, and how to build a good reputation with the other clans while stabbing them all in the back at every turn. Rayce had been a master at these techniques. Now he was faced with an opponent that Carter did not even understand – a Justicar. What did it mean? Why was Rayce so uneasy?

"Pull everyone off of the streets," Rayce said purposefully. "Now." Carter immediately turned and walked to the door so that he could relay the primogen's order. He realized that for the time being, understanding was not necessary. All that was required was obedience. He trusted Rayce to make the decisions that would keep him safe. "One more thing," Rayce said quickly as Carter began to exit. "Find Daria and send her to me. I might have some things for her to do."

Carter nodded as he closed the door behind him. Why would Rayce want Daria? He had always used Carter as his primary device for implementing his schemes. While Carter was intent on obeying, he could not help but feel hurt that Rayce was excluding him from something important.

Back inside his office, Rayce was all too aware of how he had made Carter feel. It was unavoidable, however. There were issues that Carter did not understand, and they would all take far too long for Rayce to explain. Quickness of response would be their most effective ally in the days that would follow. No matter what occurred, Rayce would need to respond to each event more quickly than the Justicar could. The fact of the matter was that the Justicar was not truly a member of the same clan that Rayce was. While they were both technically members of the Brujah clan, the Justicar was a descendant of Troile, and Rayce was not. While to many it might have seemed like a minor difference, the truth was that the effects on their blood was unmistakable. If the Justicar were to figure out that Rayce was a member of a bloodline that had been branded as traitors centuries earlier, everything he had worked for might be lost. Rayce would need to keep himself and his progeny out of the sight of the Justicar and his archons. Toward this end, he would employ Daria. She was one of the last two remaining members of the Fiori regime, a grandchilde to the extinguished Brujah primogen. Actually, she was technically one of three remaining members of Fiori's line, but Rayce no longer counted Sasha. In his mind, she was already dead. It was only a matter of time before he would bring reality to match his perceptions of it. Strength of will was all that was required.

Perhaps strength of will would not be enough this time. Rayce would not only need to deal with the destruction of Sasha and her destructive anarch friends. Not that this was all that insignificant a task in itself, he acknowledged. However, if he were able to bring all of his resources to bear against the small-time anarch gang that foolishly decided to make war against him, it would have been done within a week at most.

One of his greatest resources had been destroyed in the first night against the Nightshades when they had succeeded in destroying Billy Leary. The loss of a talented enforcer had left a small void within the Brujah ranks. Of course, there were several others that could take his place in a small, well-planned execution. Simon the Templar, Tony De Rosa, and of course Carter would be able to fulfill duties as an assassin. However, war against the Nightshades necessitated having enforcers dispersed throughout the city so that he could have the anarchs destroyed when they surfaced to set fire to one of his establishments. The loss of one of his primary enforcers meant a decrease in his clan's response time. That had hindered his ability to face his enemies, and had greatly increased his need to find the Nightshades' haven, which thus far he had been unable to do.

His finances had also taken a few hard hits. He had had two small bars burned down by the Nightshades, and another was heavily damaged when a cement truck drove through the front window. His favorite gallery had been destroyed when the foundation had spontaneously detonated, dropping the museum into a large whole in the ground. Then, of course, there was the Café du Nord fiasco. He had gone to sleep one morning with the club as one of his major cash cows. When he awakened the next night, he was informed that the bank had forced him out under some obscure clause in his loan. The institution had turned to Lillie as a harbinger of financial security. The loss of the income had been bad enough, but the situation was only made worse by the fact that a great loss of face accompanied the Toreador takeover of his club. It had not taken long for word to get around that the recently mighty Brujah had been taken down a peg by the troubled Toreador clan. He hoped that the city's kindred would someday forget the loss.

Thousands of dollars had been spent in trying to track down the Nightshades, and in fighting them when they surfaced. Without the income that Rayce had started to grow accustomed to, he doubted whether he could keep his clan afloat financially. If things were to go on for much longer, he might be forced to go into debt to one of the other clans, which would undermine his standing.

Position was crucial, and in order to get within striking distance of the prince, he would first need the support of the prince to maneuver to a position of influence. Rayce laughed softly at the irony of the situation. The prince, by supporting any of his primogen, allowed them to gain a position of influence from which they could strike at him. However, Rayce had lost a great deal of Julian Luna's support. Initially, Luna had supported the new Brujah primogen as a means of maintaining some control over the Brujah clan. When Cameron had been killed suddenly by the Sabbat, a huge power vacuum had developed within the Brujah. Only Rayce was powerful enough to hold the members of the rebellious clan under his control. However, he had not been in the city for long, and lacked local contacts. Julian had given him the support he had needed to solidify his position. Now, however, Julian was probably coming to regret the decision. Rayce had defied the wishes of San Francisco's prince in deciding to destroy Sasha. Julian would never accept the action, but Rayce did not believe that the prince could prevent it. If Rayce came out of this war in one piece, he may increase his prestige within his own clan, and perhaps with a couple of others, with his successful defiance of the prince. However, he would not be able to expect any favors from Julian Luna anytime soon.

Then there were the Gangrel. Members of the clan held him at least partially responsible for getting them involved in a civil war. Traditionally, the Gangrel, while loners, were generally close to their clan members. To have them gunning each other down in the streets was something that no one either within the clan or without was used to seeing. Rayce could likewise not expect any favors from the Gangrel in the days to come.

The tourist industry had suffered, as front pages across the country had spread the news of the violence that erupted on San Francisco's streets every night. It seemed as if no one in his right mind wished to come to the Bay Area any longer. Apparently, the only visitors not afraid to come to San Francisco were the Justicar and his archons. That brought Rayce around to his original concern. He needed to find a way to guarantee that the law of the Camarilla would not discover his true lineage. Once again he dwelt upon Daria. Rayce decided he would use her as an envoy between himself and the Justicar. If Metairie possessed a way to determine anything about other kindred through methods akin to the Tremere blood magic, Rayce would avoid the consequences. Daria, at least in blood, was just as much a Brujah as Sasha and her doomed friends.

****

VI

Metairie slowly turned the pages of the reports that his archons had prepared during their first night in the city. In addition to information gained from a few personal interviews, the Justicar could turn to information provided by some of the clan's mysterious elders. For centuries the Brujah elders seemed to have been gone from the world, but recently they had been gradually awakening, once more gaining information about the younger members of their clan, and occasionally influencing events from behind the scenes. Metairie knew that this was one of those occasions. Some of his elders wished him to prolong the war, to make it possible for the Brujah to establish another anarch free state. The elders that Metairie was most beholden to, however, had mandated that the war end swiftly and order be restored. They wished for their Justicar to return to the East Coast, to deal once again with the Sabbat.

As Metairie learned more about Rayce's clan, he became more and more certain that he had been sent here not just to restore peace, but to destroy the rigid hierarchy that the primogen had established. The entire concept ran completely against all that the Brujah clan held dear. Prestige among the Brujah was gained by destroying rigid systems of order, not by building them up and inflicting them upon one's own clanmates. Butterfly and her Nightshades seemed to understand this, and they had thus far been surprisingly adept at turning the city into a chaotic war zone. The Gangrel were tearing themselves to pieces, and the prince was powerless to act. True, Butterfly also had Brujah killing each other, but it was all for the greater good. The clan could never grow strong by becoming organized. The Brujah gained their strength from their individuality and independence of action. By depriving San Francisco's Brujah of their freedom, Rayce had made the clan weak.

Of course, Metairie was not blind to the fact that the Brujah had more prestige in San Francisco than they generally did anywhere else, but such things were unimportant when one looked at the whole picture. However, the Brujah of San Francisco had always been unique in their world-view. For decades, Eddie Fiori had tried to turn his control over Brujah gangs into an organized force that would allow him to become prince of the city. He had died in the attempt. His successor, Cameron, had also desired control over San Francisco. He had been wiser and more patient, however, and had devoted time to building up his reputation with the other clans. He had understood that to be prince, one had to possess the approval of all of the clans of the city. Cameron had been a fool. He had shown so much promise, but in the end had been no wiser than Eddie Fiori. He had lacked understanding of the true source of power – the power of the individual. Had he simply walked into Luna's precious meeting room and announced that the Brujah no longer accepted the edicts of the prince, Luna could very possibly have lost power. The order of the city would have collapsed, resulting in the creation of another anarch free state. In this city of survival of the fittest, Cameron would have thrived. Instead, he had played by the rules of the Ventrue and Tremere, trying to gain approval from worthless figurehead leaders of inferior clans. In the end he, like Eddie Fiori, had been killed.

Rayce followed and proved to be an amalgamation of the two. He was as ruthless as Fiori when necessary, but still played servant to the prince and the city's primogen. He would very likely have succeeded one day in becoming prince, Metairie decided with no lack of disgust. Despite his obvious narrow mindedness, though, Rayce had taken one action particularly noteworthy of a Brujah. He had walked into the prince's home, and informed him that Luna's own niece was sentenced to the final death, and that no one could prevent her fate. Metairie smiled at the thought of what sort of expression had formed on Julian Luna's face when Rayce had dropped that particular bomb. Yes, Metairie decided, Rayce must have had cahones made of solid titanium, and he was obviously not afraid of some chaos if it served his needs. Perhaps he would be worthy of sparing.

"Sire," a voice spoke discreetly from the doorway into Metairie's makeshift office. Metairie looked up and saw LaFourche standing before him, his expression obviously distraught.

"Yes?" Metairie asked, annoyed at his childe's hesitation to speak.

"Tammany is dead, sire," LaFourche stated flatly. "Jefferson and Orleans found his body about half an hour ago."

"How?" Metairie asked, fighting back the misery and rage that was welling up within him.

"He was shot," LaFourche answered. "It looks like someone picked him off from a rooftop with tracer rounds." Metairie nodded, knowing the phosphorous-tipped tracer rounds would cauterize any wound they caused, making regeneration all but impossible. With such weapons one could kill kindred without great difficulty.

"Do we know who did it?" Metairie asked.

"No," LaFourche replied, lowering his eyes in shame. His blood brother had been killed, and he had no idea who had been behind the attack. His duty, and that of his brothers, was to avenge Tammany's death, but he was powerless to do so until they had identified the killer.

"Wait," Metairie mumbled, remembering something he had seen not long before. He started skimming over the pages of information he had been reading, and came to what he had been looking for. He read carefully, making certain he got everything correct. He read about Mitchell Carter, Rayce's first childe. At least, that was, the first childe that anyone knew of. He had been a member of San Francisco's special weapons unit, and was already known for the combat support he would lend from rooftops, using a sniper rifle with tracer rounds. It all made sense to Metairie. Rayce must have realized that as far as traditional Brujah customs went, he was a poor leader. In fact, there should not have been a leader. The primogen must have figured that Metairie would decide in Butterfly's favor, and that he should beat the Justicar to the punch. Rayce had made a terrible error. He had drawn first blood.

"Inform your brothers that sentence has been passed," Metairie stated with the air of authority that he had developed shortly after becoming the Justicar of the Brujah clan. "Rayce's life is forfeit. He will be hunted down, his blood used to strengthen the whole of the Brujah clan. All of his progeny are likewise forfeit. We will purge the kindred world of Rayce's blood, once and for all. So let it be written, so let it be done. The Brujah of San Francisco we be free once again." He then looked back down at the pages in front of him, wondering where he would be able to find Rayce and his doomed cohorts.

"I will prepare the necessary documents," LaFourche replied. Metairie always liked to cover himself when he handed down a sentence, and always reported death sentences to the Inner Council of the Camarilla. It was not necessary to do so, and few Justicars would have performed such an action, as it served to acknowledge the authority that the Inner Circle had over the Justicars. However, Metairie did not take chances, and LaFourche agreed that such a course of action was probably prudent.

"Send a copy of my decision to Luna as well," Metairie added, almost as an afterthought. "He'd probably like to know he no longer has to worry that pretty little head of his deciding what to do. We've solved his problems for him." Metairie leaned back and fought back the anger that still burned within his veins. He would be able to avenge his childe. Rayce had thought he could start a war with the Justicar without anyone finding out, but he had not counted on Metairie's intelligence. It was gratifying, Metairie thought, when people constantly judged him by his rough appearance and overlooked the fact that he had to have both power and an intellect to have become Justicar. An enemy had made that mistake once again, and would pay the ultimate price.

Across town, Patrick Collins sat behind his desk with a wide grin on his face. From what he had heard, his plan had worked perfectly. The archons had found their slain brother, and the decision had come down to destroy Rayce. He marveled at the stupidity of the Brujah Justicar, to make such a rash decision in the heat of the moment, with no more than circumstantial evidence. Sometimes, he pondered, it was a wonder that the Brujah had ever made it out of the Dark Ages. Then again, he mused, they were so ignorant that one could make the argument that the entire clan had, in fact, never had made it out of the Dark Ages. He allowed himself a small chuckle, and prepared to go to sleep for the day.

****

VII

Magnus walked through the halls of the Telemon compound slowly, his body growing weary with the rising sun. The rest of his clanmates had already retired for the day, but he remained awake, pondering the events that had thus far transpired in San Francisco. On a nightly basis he had been forced to counsel Matt against taking action in the war that was raging around them, but he had not believed much of what he said. He, like Matt, was a warrior, and he craved battle as much as any other member of his clan ever would. Only the wisdom of years had allowed him to override his impulses and hold the clan's primogen in check.

Matt's latest idea had been to hold a covert war against both sides, much as Basil had done. His hope had been that the old Ventrue would take much of the blame over the deaths, and the Telemon would never be discovered. The idea had some merit, Magnus knew, but it was too risky. Siras Telemon, the progenitor of their clan, had been adamant about the importance of San Francisco when he had dispatched Magnus to the city. If the clan were to survive, or even someday thrive, they needed to hold onto the great position that Matt had developed for them. Still, however, Magnus knew that he was a man of action. Sitting and watching others fight the battles was unacceptable for him.

Matt Reimer had not been the only one hatching plots, and Magnus reflected upon a few of his more favored ones. The most obvious course of action would be to assassinate Butterfly, the leader of the anarchs that had caused all of the trouble. This could very likely bring his clan prestige, especially if it caused the war to end. He knew two reasons, though, why he should not execute this plan. First and foremost, if Butterfly were killed, her coalition of forces would most likely crumble. Sasha would be defenseless, and Rayce would be able to extinguish her at his convenience. Ultimately, Julian would blame the Telemon for creating the situation that caused his niece to be destroyed. This would not advance the Telemon cause at all. Secondly, with Butterfly dead the fighting would probably end too quickly. Even though he was left out, Magnus knew the war should rage a little longer. The clans had built up some bad blood, and it needed to be shed if there were to be any lasting stability. Also, the more they fought and died, the weaker the other clans would become, and the better the Telemon would look in the eyes of the prince. While the clan was under orders from Siras to never make a move for the city, there would be nothing wrong with being the most favored clan after Julian's own.

Magnus allowed himself a slight chuckle at the thought that they would never work toward taking the city for themselves. It was Siras' belief that the only way for the clan to survive until it was powerful enough to hold its own against the older clans was to make itself useful to those in power. If the princes felt that it was convenient to keep the Telemon around, they would do so. The elders might object, but most of them still lived in Europe, their native home. Only the princes of the New World had to face the threats of the Sabbat and Brujah anarchs on a daily basis, and they needed soldiers to fight these wars. The Telemon provided warriors that were apparently completely loyal. As long as the Telemon made no play for a Camarilla-held city, they could claim to be supporters of the elders' authority. So they permitted themselves to be used by the princes. They allowed their lives to be risked and occasionally lost, for it was the only way to ensure the clan's future survival. It was ironic, Magnus mused, that some of the strongest of the kindred community were intentionally keeping themselves from power. It ran against everything that he had learned to be the proper role of power when he had been a child in Germany. That had been in the years leading up to World War II, when might made right, and the strong sought domination with the same sense of purpose that a Buddhist priest would seek enlightenment.

Magnus shook his head, trying to stave off the weariness that overtook all kindred as the sun came up. He would need to sleep very soon, and he still had some thinking to do. He should remain focused, and not allow himself to drift off into thoughts of his youth. Such folly would not gain him anything. The old German considered another plan. He could simply kidnap Sasha, stake her, and bury her somewhere, keeping her in torpor for as long as was convenient. Her disappearance would be taken as evidence that she had been killed, so she would probably never be sought out. Magnus could then "find" her and return her to her doting uncle if the Telemon ever needed to ingratiate themselves to their prince. This plan seemed to have a lot of promise. However, the only problem was the risk, which was enormous. If his scheme were to ever somehow be discovered, it could mean the end of the Telemon. Not only would they lose all standing in San Francisco, word would get around to all princes, and they would be welcome nowhere. In the end, the Telemon would not have to simply seem loyal to the prince, they would need to act as if they actually were. As long as they remembered their true loyalties, they would maintain their true purpose, and they would be free from the prince's control. Reality existed in the mind, and it was in their minds that the Telemon could be free, even if their daily lives would indicate that many of their freedoms had been taken from them. Sadly, Magnus rejected his plan. To behave as if he were loyal to the prince would be to reject the idea of kidnapping his niece and holding her hostage until such time that it may be convenient to return her.

Magnus then moved on to his next machination. He could start supplying both sides of the war with weapons, so that they would be better able to destroy each other. All of the suppliers in northern California had raised their prices as a result of the increased demand. Magnus, however, had a supplier out of Vancouver, and would be able to get weapons at much closer to the accepted black market prices. Of course, he would still be making a hefty profit for himself and his clan, but the true purpose would be to ingratiate himself with whoever would eventually win. While this scheme offered him the smallest amount of true action, it also allowed the greatest amount of safety. He decided to start playing gun smuggler again, a role that he had not taken since he and Nadav had supplied guns to Iranian fanatics during their overthrow of their shah at the end of the seventies. It was a job he would enjoy very much.

With one last glance out a window, Magnus began to trudge toward his room, content in the knowledge that he had decided on a course of action. He would be able to sleep peacefully, and the next night he could assume the role that he had been born into – that of a man of action.

CHAPTER 5

****

I

Rayce stared at the old Telemon sitting across his desk from him, not really knowing what to think. Since Magnus had arrived in San Francisco, no one had seen much of him. He was apparently only performing the role of advisor to Matt Reimer, although Rayce knew for a fact that Magnus was probably more powerful than his clan's primogen. He had seen him display some of that strength against a werewolf not long ago, and it surprised him to see the same warrior sitting across from him hammering out the details of a weapons shipment. It was more the role that would have been performed by one of the younger Telemon. Striker or Armstrong would have been more than capable of carrying out this meeting. In a moment of epiphany, Rayce realized that Magnus' clanmates probably had no idea that he was meeting with the Brujah. Rayce noted the fact with interest, taking heed of the fact that the Telemon were apparently not as rigidly hierarchical as they had appeared – unless, of course, Magnus were of so high a position in the clan as to not be subject to Reimer's mandates. This thought unsettled the Brujah a great deal, and he turned back to the business at hand.

"So you guarantee you can get everything I need?" Rayce asked, already knowing the answer. Magnus seemed to know exactly what he was doing. Rayce was not used to always dealing with professionals, so instinct took over and required him to ask a question that had become second nature to him.

"I would not be here otherwise," Magnus answered flatly, betraying no significant affect as a result of a question that could potentially have been seen as insulting.

"So how do I know you won't run to my enemies with the same great deals you're offering me?" Rayce questioned, suspecting that Magnus might be planning to play both sides to guarantee that he had ingratiated himself with the eventual winner. It seemed like something the old German would do, as he did not appear to be a man taken to gambling on his future.

"You don't," Magnus responded. "In fact, you are correct in being suspicious. I plan on finding Cash later and offering him some of the same deals." The brazen gall in Magnus' response threw Rayce off guard for a few moments, but he recovered quickly.

"So you admit that you'll be playing both sides?"

"Does that fact make my merchandise any less effective?" Magnus inquired. "Does that make the low prices I offer any less necessary with your drastically decreased income? From my viewpoint, Rayce, you are not in any position to question my business practices. You need weapons, and I can supply them. If you don't like the way I do business, then go through your normal channels and pay twice as much." The German leaned back, restraining himself from grinning. Just because he knew that he had Rayce over a barrel did not mean that he had to flaunt his position.

"You're right, of course," Rayce commented, swallowing his principles for the time being. "I am not in much of a position to object." Magnus only nodded in response. "I will have the money together by tomorrow night at this time. When can you make delivery?" Rayce wished to push for quick shipment, though he was also careful to not betray how desperate he had become.

"Three nights from now," Magnus replied. He noted Rayce's obvious disappointment, and realized how dangerous the primogen's position must be becoming. Magnus realized that Rayce probably expected to have the Justicar judge against him. "I will take my leave of you now," Magnus stated as he stood from the comfortable leather chair. The Telemon then walked out through the club, noting the uncharacteristic presence of Patrick and Stephen entering. Magnus looked behind him and saw that Rayce had followed him out, apparently to check how things were going at the bar. Yes, Magnus decided, things were truly not going well for Rayce.

Neither Patrick nor Stephen noticed Magnus slip out through a side fire exit, as they were both too engrossed in the chore that had brought them to the Pierce Street Annex.

"Why are we here?" Stephen asked the Tremere primogen again, hoping that he would finally receive an explanation. He had been asked to come along, but had not been told why. All that Stephen had been told was that he would enjoy this brief meeting.

"To let Rayce know that the Justicar has ruled against him," Patrick responded simply.

"Why would we want to do that?" Stephen asked. "I thought you wanted to get rid of Rayce. It doesn't seem to make sense to support the one that will remain in the city after the war."

"Of course it makes sense," Patrick replied. "First of all, it's too late for Rayce to really do anything about the warning we will give him. Metairie and his archons are already waiting outside. This will accomplish two things." Patrick stopped in his tracks, making certain he would be able to complete his explanation before he and Stephen reached Rayce. "First, it will give Rayce a chance to prepare to meet his enemies. That will guarantee a higher death toll on both sides. He will probably be killed, in which case we lose nothing, since the Justicar will then leave the city and never be any wiser to the role we played. If Rayce lives, it will be because he killed the Brujah Justicar, a crime that will doubtlessly be punished in the first act of Metairie's successor. Again, we lose nothing, as Rayce will be forced to flee San Francisco." Patrick then looked at Stephen, hoping that this would explain everything.

"What's the other reason?" Stephen asked. "You said there were two things this would accomplish."

"Yes," Patrick replied, not thinking he would have had to explain something so obvious. "The second reason to tell him is so that if things don't go one of the two ways I just described, that if Rayce somehow gets out of this and stays in San Francisco, he will be in debt to us, as we had warned him when no one else would." Stephen nodded in sudden understanding, and scanned the large club. He saw Rayce behind the bar, going through receipts, and pointed him out to Patrick. The two Tremere then walked toward the Brujah primogen, eager to carry out their latest scheme.

"Rayce," Patrick called as he arrived at the bar, "I have some important news for you."

"What's that?" Rayce inquired, not turning away from his counting. He would be damned if he would allow himself to be suckered in by the Tremere, who he was sure were planning to feed him some misinformation.

"Metairie has ruled against you," Patrick said loudly, so that he could be heard over the music of the club. Rayce immediately turned to the Tremere primogen, Patrick having obviously caught Rayce's attention.

"How do you know?" Rayce asked suspiciously.

"I'm Tremere," Patrick responded simply. "We know everything. Blood magic and all, you know." Patrick refused to elaborate, wishing instead for the Brujah primogen to always wonder what actually were the limits of the Tremere's powers.

"Why are you telling me?" Rayce replied, already suspecting Patrick's true motives.

"Well, while I would absolutely love to have the Justicar and his minions destroy you, the fact of the matter is that the last thing I want is to have precedent set that the elders can affect our way of life in this city," Patrick replied smoothly. "Besides," he added, "if you get extinguished, there's no telling who would replace you. At least you keep the Brujah from endangering the Masquerade the way they used to." Rayce nodded, seeming to accept Patrick's explanation. _Indeed_, he reasoned, _both excuses seem to have a logical foundation._ However, such was the way of Tremere schemes. Everything the warlocks said seemed to make absolute sense, since even their lies contained at least ninety-percent truth.

"Thank you," Rayce replied, acting as graciously as he could. Patrick and Stephen nodded in response, and immediately headed out of the club. Rayce, on the other hand, darted from behind the bar and started to gather together the Brujah that were in the Pierce Street Annex. Within a matter of minutes he had assembled Daria, Carter, Tony, Denis, and Simon. That gave him a total of six against the Justicar and perhaps a half-dozen archons. The odds looked grim, but Rayce made up his mind to do what he could.

The Brujah all armed themselves and headed toward the front door, confident that the Justicar would not take action in front of dozens of mortals. To do so would threaten the Masquerade, and a Justicar would always keep that greatest of laws in mind. As soon as they walked out, Rayce caught sight of Metairie, flanked by three archons. A moment later, two more appeared from the sides of the club, probably having been watching the other exits to make sure that Rayce had not escaped. The numbers were even, Rayce noted, but his young kindred stood no chance against the older and stronger archons. He did feel confident, however, that he could dispose of Metairie. This would not be the first Justicar that Rayce had been forced to extinguish.

Metairie spread out his arms, signaling to his minions that there was to be no fighting out in the open, just as Rayce had predicted. Rayce walked his Brujah over to a Ford Expedition, and Daria got behind the wheel and started to drive off. As she did so, Rayce, Simon, Tony, and Carter all prepared their weapons, knowing they would most likely need them in the near future.

"Follow them," Metairie said to Orleans. "I'm going to make sure that they all left. Remember not to endanger the Masquerade."

"Yes, sire," Orleans responded. He and the other archons ran toward two Jeep Cherokees and raced off after Rayce and his condemned Brujah.

As soon as they were out of sight of Metairie, Orleans was on the radio to the other Jeep. "Break out the guns, let's finish this."

"You know what Metairie said," Jefferson answered from the other vehicle. "We're not to endanger the Masquerade." Jefferson was not surprised that Orleans wished to start the fighting immediately, as the archon had always been hot for battle. However, Jefferson took it as his personal responsibility to restrain his blood brother.

"Why the hell not?" Orleans asked in response. "We're the archons, our master is the Justicar. We are the law of the Camarilla. Who will punish us?"

"You know, you're right," Jefferson replied from the second Jeep after a brief moment of thought, noting from Orleans' voice that there would be no preventing the coming shootout. Jefferson just resigned himself to his fate. Orleans looked back at Jefferson and LaFourche in the vehicle behind him and saw that they were breaking out their weapons. He then turned to Bernard and Terrebonne in the Jeep with him and made sure that they did the same.

Orleans looked ahead, seeing the Brujah in their Expedition, and allowed his blood to start burning, raising the effectiveness of his physical abilities. His coordination increased, as did his physical toughness. He would certainly be ready for what would come. Then, with a wide grin, he gave the order. "Fire," he said sternly into the radio. A moment later a hail of gunfire erupted around Rayce's vehicle. To the surprise of the archons, however, the bullets all ricocheted off of the Expedition's surface, revealing its armor plating.

"They'll have to try harder than that," Rayce muttered as he lowered one of the windows a slight bit. He stuck a MAC-10 out just enough to get a clear shot, and emptied the clip into the front of Orleans' Jeep.

"Shit!" Orleans yelled, veering sharply to the left, almost rolling the Cherokee. The windshield was shot out, and the hood looked like a piece of Swiss cheese. The engine still ran, however. The archon regained control of the vehicle and started his pursuit again, easily catching up with Jefferson, who was now leading the archons' attack.

"Do you think we could try a little harder to lose them?" Rayce sarcastically asked Daria, who seemed frustrated with the Expedition.

"You've got to be kidding me," she shouted back. "This thing wasn't exactly hell on wheels before you armor plated it. Now I feel like I'm driving Miss Daisy!" Another eruption of gunfire from behind punctuated her response, and cracks started to form in the rear window. It was obvious that the armor would not deflect the archons' bullets forever.

"We can't hold out much longer," Denis commented from the front seat, pointing out the obvious. "We're going to have to stop eventually, and then they'll have us." At that moment the car phone rang. Rayce's unarmed accountant, not having anything else constructive to do, answered it. Another burst of fire drowned out whatever Denis said to the caller, but a moment later he handed the phone to Rayce. "It's for you," he said with a puzzled look. Rayce took the phone and immediately tried to identify the caller.

"Who is this?" he asked, expecting to hear the taunting voice of one of the archons from the other end of the line.

"Greetings and salutations," the caller answered glibly. Rayce immediately recognized the voice of Johnny Yashida.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" Rayce asked quickly over the sound of gunshots from Carter and Tony.

"Hell got boring," Yashida replied. "Go to the Telemon compound," he instructed. "You should be safe there, at least for awhile." He then hung up the phone.

"Take us to Reimer's!" Rayce yelled to Daria, who immediately cut the tires in a hard left turn, causing an accident behind her in the intersection. Both of the archons' vehicles had to slow down and go around the disabled cars, giving Rayce and his clanmates a chance to extend their lead. Daria quickly reached the highway and floored the gas, hoping that she could reach the Telemon compound before the archons caught up to them all again.

****

II

Orleans grinned as he and Jefferson began to close the gap between themselves and Rayce's Expedition. The primogen had made a fatal error when he allowed his driver to exit the freeway and start driving some of the narrower streets of Pacific Heights. As the Ford slowed in front of him, Bernard and Terrebonne stuck their weapons out of the windows again and fired. This time, small holes appeared in the back window of the primogen's vehicle. They were moments away from filling Rayce's Ford with lead when Daria cut the tires and turned through the open, ornate gates of one of the local homes, starting down a small private drive. Orleans slammed on the brakes and followed the Brujah, Jefferson following behind him just as closely. The drive made a slight curve through a thin copse of trees, and the archons immediately caught sight of a small mansion looming in front of them. It struck Orleans as odd that a second wall and heavy iron gate were to be found close to the building, forming an inner perimeter within the fenced property line. The entire estate seemed constructed almost as more of a small fortress than as one of the luxury homes that surrounded it. That would be the only thought that Orleans would have time to consider.

A fraction of a second later, the interior of the Jeep seemed to be exploding around him. Glass shattered and flew into his flesh, stinging him with pain. However, this was nothing compared to the agony that he felt as a white-hot 20mm tracer round streaked through the windshield and into his chest, missing his heart by mere inches. Orleans was unable to look back at Terrebonne and Bernard before he scrambled out of the driver's seat and rolled free from the vehicle and into a nearby bush. Now free from the carnage of the inside of his Jeep, he was able to see two heavy machine gun turrets mounted on the roof of the mansion that they had been approaching. Each one was targeting one of the Jeeps, and Rayce's Ford had been allowed safe passage. He then caught sight of his two blood brothers in the bushes across the drive, and he signaled for them to stay still. Neither looked as if he needed any convincing. It was a matter of seconds before both of the archons' Jeeps were reduced to scrap. Both seemed to consist more of holes than of solid pieces of metal. Oil, gas, and anti-freeze ran freely down the drive, the engine no longer able to hold them. Orleans looked briefly at himself, and noticed the similarity. In the shock of the attack, he had been unaware of how seriously injured he had been. Five large gunshot wounds in his chest gave testament to the accuracy of the shooters, and he knew that the tracer round that had burned him would not heal anytime soon.

"Unidentified intruders," a voice boomed out on a loudspeaker above them, "you have purposely been spared. However, if you do not leave the premises immediately, you will be made to resemble the contents of a can of Spaghetti-O's. You have five seconds to comply."

Orleans was about to stand up and identify himself as an archon of the Brujah, but thought better of it. In the instant moment, it was probably far wiser to flee and report to his sire than it was to be killed meaninglessly. He knew that when the Justicar heard of what had transpired, there would be righteous vengeance for him and his brothers. He needed only ensure that they all lived that long. He stood up and raced off, allowing the scant amount of blood left in his body to power his movements, permitting him to run at supernatural speeds out of the sights of his assailants. He could hear his brothers behind him, and knew that they were all safe, and breathed a sigh of relief. He doubted he would have been able to explain their deaths to Metairie.

Above the archons, within the Telemon compound, there was not the celebratory mood that normally accompanied a victory. Matt looked through his night-vision binoculars, still unable to believe what he had just seen. His sire had called him, and rather than explaining how it was that he was alive, and where he had been for the last year, he told his childe that he was to fire on the two vehicles that would follow Rayce's Expedition through the front gates. He had refused to give any further explanation, and now Matt Reimer was faced with having to explain his actions not only in front of the city's conclave of primogen, but also before the Justicar of the Brujah clan. He still did not exactly understand just how serious this would probably be, but he was reasonably certain that it would not be good. Within a few minutes of the archons' departure, a red 1998 VW Bug drove through the outer gate and stopped just short of the hulking wreckage that until a few minutes before had been perfectly functional Jeep Cherokees. Johnny Yashida stepped out of the driver's seat, and Michelle Marlowe predictably fell out of the passenger side, not able to take her eyes off of the Jeeps that blocked their path. She said something to Yashida that Matt could not hear, and then ran up to the back vehicle and started to more closely examine the bullet holes. Johnny bypassed the evidence of the archons' arrival and immediately walked up to the Expedition. Four Telemon guards stood around it, preventing Rayce and the few remaining members of his clan from getting out. Johnny went up to Holden and spoke quickly to him. Moments later, Rayce was permitted to exit the vehicle, though the others were still detained. The two of them then walked through the front door and headed for the study, where both knew Matt and Magnus would be waiting.

"Mr. Yashida," Magnus began, allowing Matt a few more moments more to control his rage. "It is curious that you arrive here apparently unscathed. Reports had it that you were dead."

"I am flattered at your concern, brother," Yashida answered, acknowledging the fact that Magnus was also a childe of Siras Telemon, and therefore his blood brother. Matt noted the strain in Johnny's voice, however, and figured that his sire had been as surprised as he had been when he had learned of Magnus' existence. However, Matt could not guess the deep feelings that the revelation had stirred in Johnny. Yashida had always felt himself to be the first childe of Siras. They had enjoyed several years in California, living off of the small fortune that Johnny had amassed before his embrace. Later on had come Marcus, and then Matt was selected for entry into the clan. Yashida had noticed the militant flavor the clan had been developing, but had always thought it a new preference. When he had learned of Magnus, though, Johnny had realized that Siras had always intended to select childer that had martial excellence. He had seemed destined to form a clan of soldiers. With that new understanding, Johnny had suddenly felt like more of an outcast than he had ever been. He had felt used, as if Siras had embraced him only so that he could enjoy the money that was the fruit of Johnny's labors. When the money had been exhausted, Siras had apparently gone back to embracing soldiers to form his own little kindred army. The fact of Johnny's bad judgement in Seattle had only served to increase the rift between Johnny and his clanmates. As accurately as he could figure, the only decent thing he had ever done for his clan was to embrace Matt, and he was sure that everyone else saw that as a fluke.

After fighting the Sabbat Bishop Geist and his Templars, Johnny had been greatly injured, and fled for awhile to lick his wounds. While he had been away, he had heard of Magnus, and decided he would never return to his clan. He had known that the life expectancy of rogue kindred was not too great, but he could not bear the thought of returning to where he was not welcome. Then he had caught new news, word of a job that he had apparently left undone. For the past year he had followed reports of an anarch gang all the way across the country. Now, his search was at an end, but he would need help. He would need to ask his clan for assistance, and that meant he would first have to explain the purpose behind his disappearance. He could not tell the truth, and he hoped that they would accept a rather convincing lie.

"What did you think you were doing?" Matt asked through clenched teeth. "Those were the archons of the Brujah Justicar. When he finds out what we've done, he'll sentence us to final death right along with Rayce and his crew."

"No he won't," Johnny muttered in response, still searching his mind for the reason why they would be able to escape Metairie's inevitable wrath. He desperately hoped that he would think of a plausible reason before Matt asked the question.

"Why not?" Matt asked, drawing the deadline for Johnny's thoughts. Yashida had already come up with an answer, however.

"Because Rayce and his clan will kill the Justicar," Johnny said, keeping his face straight despite the apparent absurdity of his statement.

"You're crazy," Magnus responded. The old German had heard stories of the numerous inane strategies that his younger brother had formulated, and now he was beginning to see how true they had all been.

"No he's not," Rayce replied. "He's right. At least, we'll have to make a try at it, that is. It's the only way to escape sentence."

"The new Justicar will simply follow up," Magnus answered quickly. "You gain nothing."

"We gain a head start on the new Justicar," Rayce replied. "Trust me, he'll never find us."

"And what if you fail?" Matt asked, displaying the serious doubt he had in Rayce's ability to defeat a Justicar and his minions. "Then he can turn his attention toward us."

"He will not move against you," Rayce replied confidently. "Threaten to expose the behavior of his archons, who endangered the Masquerade with that chase of theirs. Then also point out that they did not identify themselves when they entered your property. You can claim the right of Dominion over your own haven. While you knew us and were willing to give me and my people safe passage into your home, you were not willing to do so with our unidentified pursuers. Dominion over your haven is a right granted in the Traditions. Not even a Justicar or his minions can ignore that law."

"That would probably be enough," Magnus commented, wondering why he had not seen the solution to the problem himself. "The Justicar has already lost one of his archons in this city, and he will not be in a hurry to try to exterminate another clan after he's done with you."

"So that takes care of that," Matt said, seeming a bit more relaxed. "Now on to another matter." He turned toward his sire, and looked him up and down. "Tell me something Johnny," he began, seeming to choose his words carefully. "What the hell is that car you drove up here tonight?"

"I'm all low profile and stuff on this trip," Johnny answered with a grin, feeling more comfortable since Matt had obviously relaxed a bit. "I didn't want anyone to notice me."

"So you drive around in a bright red Bug?" Magnus asked, feeling the choice in vehicles was absurd.

"No one who knows me would ever have expected that I would drive such a thing," Johnny replied. "If they ever saw me, they'd be like, 'Is that Johnny Yashida? Nah, it couldn't be. Look at that car, he wouldn't be caught dead in something like that.' Of course, that's the whole point."

"So now what?" Rayce asked with a grin, not able to stop himself from smiling a slight bit despite the situation he found himself in.

"You will attempt to destroy the Justicar," Magnus answered. "We have already decided that." Magnus knew that Rayce would ask for assistance, but in his opinion such considerations were out of the question.

"Can you give me any help?" Rayce asked, confirming the German's suspicions. His need was obvious despite his calm demeanor.

"No," Matt replied without even considering the question. Rayce noted a look of approval on Magnus' face, and knew that this was probably a topic that had already been discussed much within the Telemon mansion. None of them were under any delusions about their place in the kindred community. They were not about to risk their lives helping a condemned man against one of the judges of the Camarilla.

"Can you at least keep the Nightshades off of me until I have a shot at Metairie and his brood?" Rayce inquired, hoping the Telemon would be ready for at least that much of a fight. He could immediately tell that Matt wanted to get the clan involved in some combat, and that he considered the Nightshades to be an acceptable target. Magnus, however, did not seem willing to take such a chance.

"We will not become involved in this war of yours," the large German stated plainly, seeming to usurp Matt's authority. Reimer simply nodded, acknowledging that he agreed with Magnus' view of the situation. "You know well what would happen if we went against Luna's edicts for no good reason."

"Perhaps we should discuss this matter briefly," Johnny suggested, looking to Magnus and Matt. "There is more going on here than you know." Johnny prepared himself for finally revealing to his clan that he needed their help. He hated to admit that he was unable to take care of his own affairs without assistance from those he had hoped to leave behind, but he had to accept the reality of the situation. As Siras had taught him, it was unwise to fight a battle that could not be won, and Johnny could not win his battle without assistance from the rest of the Telemon.

"What do you mean?" Matt asked, suddenly intrigued. Magnus' face showed irritation, not curiosity, and Yashida knew he would not be having a simple conversation. He decided he would have to be more elusive about the subject than he had originally planned.

"Come with me," Johnny replied, walking toward Matt's adjacent office.

The three Telemon left Rayce alone in the study, and the Brujah amused himself by closely examining the battlefield models that Matt had constructed, showing some of the more epic battles from history. He walked over to one displaying Henry V's famous stand against the French at Agincourt, and grinned. He quickly moved one of the small contingents of archers a hundred yards toward the left flank and looked closely for a minute, making sure he had gotten it right. It had been a major misunderstanding of the battle for centuries, and he hoped that his correction would help Matt make sense of what had happened. For years scholars had criticized the French strategy rather than praise Henry's genius. They had noted that the French knights had ridden their horses straight into a sea of mud, making them useless and allowing the English to cut them down at will. The truth was, as Rayce vaguely remembered, that the French had initially planned to send a large number of their horse at the English left flank, hoping to break their lines and allow the rest of their number to move through the muddy field at a slower pace and hold their own lines. Henry had prepared for this, though, and two dozen Welsh archers had been waiting for the two hundred knights. When the archers had opened fire, the knights, many of them very young and in battle for the first time, panicked. They changed course immediately and headed back toward the main line, making a difficult situation even worse, and added to the chaos that led to the destruction of the French army. Rayce allowed himself to smile again, comparing the English victory to his own situation. It was not always the stronger side that won. If the weaker combatant fought a flawless battle, and included a few surprises, it was almost always possible to defeat a more powerful opponent.

In Matt's office, Magnus seemed to be growling at Yashida. "What is it that we don't know?" he asked menacingly. "We need to make the call here, Johnny. You had damn well better tell us what's going on."

"We would be in our rights to attack the Nightshades," Johnny replied as he sat on a chair in the corner. Both Matt and Magnus looked at him wide-eyed, in disbelief. Both relished the chance to enter combat, and had not imagined it would be possible. Now, however, they were intrigued as to how it could be done within the laws of the Camarilla.

"Just tell me how to explain it all to Julian," Matt said, unable to contain his enthusiasm. He had been champing at the bit to get in the fight since it had started. When the Toreador had entered the war, it had appeared possible that the Telemon would hire their services out to the city's artists. That plan had been scrapped immediately when Metairie had shown up, though. There was no way in hell the Telemon would attract attention to themselves with the Brujah Justicar in the city. They all knew that they could still very well be considered to be a part of the Brujah clan, and would thus fall directly under Metairie's authority. They all doubted that the Brujah Justicar would take a forgiving view of the abandonment of their Brujah heritage.

"Perhaps we should hold back anyway," Magnus put in. "We would be far better served by waiting this war out, and picking up lost Brujah influence. I don't see where this is any of our clan's concern." The German looked from Johnny to Matt, gauging their response to their words. Matt seemed to be considering them, but Yashida did not appear to be giving the German's stance the least bit of thought. This dismayed Magnus, as his plans to make some money on the side would be lost if the clan entered the war. He had to admit, though, that it would be nice to finally get some action.

"The archons are none of our concern," Johnny commented. "You won't get any disagreement from me on that score. To go up against them is to go up against the Justicar, perhaps even the Inner Circle of the Camarilla." He looked to his childe, making sure that Matt knew what this implied. "If we anger the elders, our friends won't even find our bodies. We'll simply disappear." Yashida took a dramatic pause and glanced toward Magnus. His older brother nodded, acknowledging that he fully understood the results that could follow if they were to oppose the Justicar.

"Haven't we already opposed the archons, though?" Matt asked. "I seem to remember shooting them up a few minutes ago."

"We already covered this," Johnny snapped at him, angry that his train of thought had been interrupted. While he was very fond of his childe, he could become rather impatient with the way he would hold onto problems past the point that had been resolved. He badly needed to learn when to leave well enough alone. "We were defending our own property," Johnny reminded the Telemon primogen. He then rose from his seat and began to pace back and forth, taking time to choose his words.

"I cannot yet explain the whole situation to you," Johnny finally said, drawing a look of curiosity from Matt and one of anger from Magnus. "Just trust me when I say that we will be able to explain our actions." Matt sat back, apparently satisfied with his sire's explanation. He had never known Johnny to lie to him, at least not about anything important. Magnus, however, did not seem to accept Yashida's assurances.

"I need more than just your word before I go along with this," Magnus said, glaring at Yashida.

"No you don't," Johnny replied, not intimidated by the larger, stronger, and older kindred. "We are of equal station in the clan, both childer of the clan's founder. Perhaps if you were primogen here, you could oppose me, but you're not even that. My childe holds that position of authority." Johnny glanced quickly at Matt, who seemed confused at the sudden outburst from his sire. Then Johnny continued. "Matt appears to be satisfied with my word, as our own sire was on many an occasion." Yashida stared right back at Magnus, doing his best to be as intimidating as the former German officer, though he doubted he was being successful. Johnny just hoped that Magnus would not decide to stride across the room and rip his heart out. He doubted he would be able to stop him.

"You are certain we can do this?" Magnus asked, apparently conceding. In the end, Magnus knew he would be able to call Siras and very likely force Johnny to explain the rationale for the decision, but that might cause the attack to be aborted. Magnus wanted to fight. If things went wrong, he knew Yashida would take the blame. In his eyes, he had nothing to lose by taking Yashida's word about the situation.

"I'm absolutely certain," Johnny answered. He fought to keep himself from smiling in his apparent victory, focusing instead on the difficult task he had in mind to ask his brother. "One more thing," the small Telemon added a moment later, keeping his attention on Magnus. "I know that you are among the more lethal members of our clan, but I was wondering if you could manage something a little more difficult than extinguishing a group of anarchs."

"What exactly did you have in mind?" Magnus asked, suddenly intrigued. Johnny smiled in response as he explained his plan for the Nightshades.

A few minutes later, the three oldest members of the city's Telemon walked back into the study and sat down, motioning for Rayce to also take a seat. "We have decided that to join you in opposing the archons is definitely not an option," Matt said, reiterating the Telemon stance in regards to the Justicar and his people. "However, if you are successful in killing your foes tonight, we will destroy the Nightshades for you tomorrow."

Rayce nodded slowly, considering all of the angles from which the Telemon must have viewed the problem. Obviously, he decided, they were more concerned about the Justicar's retribution than they had let on earlier. They were apparently willing to suffer Julian's wrath if it meant getting rid of Metairie. However, as self-serving as their proposal appeared, he knew that it also made sense. He would need to battle Metairie no matter what. His survival, and the survival of his charges, depended on it. If he did actually survive the battle, he would be all but defenseless against the Nightshades' counter-attack the following night. If the Telemon exterminated Rayce's other enemy, he could avoid a two-front war. All that would remain was the Toreador, and Lillie would back down once the anarchs that fought alongside her were gone.

"You have a deal," Rayce responded. He immediately rose and walked out, knowing that time was short. He would be free from attack from the Nightshades that night, for they would all be in hiding. It was the 14th, and on even-numbered nights the anarchs hid from Basil, who was on the prowl for them. Butterfly had lost a couple of her people early on, and had adjusted her strategy accordingly. The greatest problem that Rayce would have to overcome was the fact that he had no idea where the Justicar and his archons were hiding. He hoped that the one man he figured was most likely to have the information would be willing to share it with him.

The Telemon watched Rayce walk out, all of them understanding the situation that they had just gotten themselves into. For Matt, however, there was still one matter that needed to be resolved. "Johnny," the Telemon primogen commented, turning to his sire, "were you serious about the car?"

"What?" Yashida asked, turning back to his childe in surprise.

"The Bug," Matt said, clarifying his meaning. "That bright red clown car you have in my driveway. Please just tell me you stole it." Johnny looked at Matt in surprise. He had never known his childe to approve of his larcenous habits. Reimer always seemed to frown on Johnny's lack of discipline in respecting many of the mortals' laws.

"Would it make you feel better to know that I stole it?" he asked.

"Well, I sure as hell wouldn't want to have to live with the knowledge that my sire had actually paid for that thing," Matt said with a smile.

"Then rest easy," Johnny said, patting Matt on the back as he turned to leave. "For what it's worth, I don't think I would be able to live with myself if I ever paid hard earned money for one of those cars. They look like big bubbles with wheels." With that, Johnny left the compound, knowing that Matt and Magnus would be more than able to plan out the details of the next night's strike. Before then, he needed to send Michelle on a little mission of her own.

****

III

Rayce looked up at the slowly graying sky, hoping that he would be able to emerge from the coming battle. After all, he pondered, he still had one score left to settle once the Justicar was destroyed. He looked over the remnants of his clan, and almost shed a tear, accepting the fact that in a matter of minutes many of them, perhaps all of them, would be dead. However, it was better to die attacking their foes than it would be to cower in fear until Metairie finally found them and ended it. Rayce had been raised to believe that death was not such a terrible thing as long as one did not die in fear or dishonor. He had no fear, and hoped that his others did not, either. Whether they did or not, though, he was certain that they all at least had honor. They all would have made fabulous Brujah, had they been given the chance to fully mature.

Carter broke off from the rest of his clanmates and ran toward a partially concealed position in a nearby tree. He broke his Barret sniper rifle, a gift from Matt, out of its bag and hoisted it up before him, and then climbed to the most readily available sniper position. Rayce continued on toward the Conservatory of Flowers, located in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park. The Conservatory had been closed ever since 1995, when a strong winter storm all but completely destroyed the structure. Since then repairs had gone slowly, as funds needed to be raised to pay for the necessary materials and labor. It made the perfect place for Metairie to hide. In the park, tourists would surround the Justicar when he and his archons awoke, so they would constantly be able to feed. It also had the virtue of being a deserted building that was large and fairly defensible.

"Are you sure they're here?" Simon asked as they approached closer. He saw no signs of movement, and began to doubt the information that Rayce had gotten.

"Patrick assured me that this is where we would find our enemies," Rayce responded.

"Patrick Collins?" Simon asked incredulously. "What the hell did you trust him for? For all we know, he called up the Justicar as soon as you left and told him that we were on our way over."

"No," Rayce replied curtly, trying to hide some of the uneasiness he felt himself. He doubted there would be honor in leading his people into a trap. Rayce slowed his stride, ever so slightly, and his charges matched his pace. Daria, Denis, Simon, and Tony, along with Carter, managed to hide their fear as well as the old warrior that accompanied them.

"How can you be sure?" Daria asked, following up on Simon's question. "It's not that I doubt your judgement, I just want to know how you reached it." Rayce looked at her and grinned, knowing that she spoke the truth. She had always been fascinated with the games that went on behind the scenes, and this was a situation that was right up her alley.

"Patrick would have nothing to gain by telling Metairie," Rayce replied, stopping and crouching down, partially concealing himself in one of the few remaining shadows of early dawn. He wished to give Daria the satisfaction of one more lesson, as he doubted that she would be alive to hear another. Despite the fact that she was not of his blood, he had always been fond of her. "There is no reason for the Tremere to warn our enemies, because he doesn't figure we have a snowball's chance in hell of surviving the fight."

"Do we?" Denis asked, plainly revealing his fear. It was to be expected, Rayce acknowledged. Denis, like his brother, had been embraced because of his brain, not his brawn. Combat was not a task he was ever expected to have to perform.

"There is more under heaven and earth, Denis, than is dreamt of in your philosophies," Rayce said with a thin smile. "I am one of those things. Trust me, but be careful." Denis nodded, and Rayce turned once more to Daria. "Besides, look at the big picture. If Patrick told the Justicar that we were coming, Metairie would wonder how Patrick knew we were going to attack. He might even figure out that Patrick was the one that told us where to find him. While I don't think Collins is going to be too concerned about Metairie, he would probably not like the Justicar to know just how much the Tremere have learned about him." Daria nodded in sudden understanding. Like so many things in the kindred world, the secret knowledge that each side possessed was the crucial element.

"I guess it's time," Tony said, looking back toward the Conservatory.

"Yes," Rayce agreed, looking up at the sky. The day would break soon, and they would need to have vanquished their foes and taken cover from the sun's lethal rays before it turned their flesh to ash. He stood and started to stride purposefully toward the structure ahead, hoping to instill his childer with the confidence that he felt was oozing off of him.

San Francisco's Brujah reached the door of the conservatory, and Rayce kicked it off of its hinges, loudly announcing their arrival to all that were inside. While there was something to be said for stealth, it would have been pointless to have Carter in the back with a sniper rifle if they had to go far into the building to fight, leaving his field of view. The primogen then grabbed a hold of the doorframe, and closed his eyes, concentrating. The earth carried the vibrations through itself and into Rayce's hands. He could feel the footsteps of his enemies, moving quickly toward him. They had broken off into two groups. He gestured quickly off to his right, letting Carter know that that direction would probably provide his best shot. Rayce then moved off to the left, looking to confront the larger group. He immediately ran into Bernard, and drew his sword in a lightning-fast motion, opening a gaping hole in the archon's chest. Bernard looked down at his wound and was immediately beset by Daria, who took advantage of facing an injured opponent.

No sooner had Rayce moved past Bernard than he was attacked by Metairie and Terrebonne. The Justicar and his archon fought well together, betraying the countless hours of training and combat that they had seen. Metairie quickly grabbed a hold of Rayce and threw him farther into the building, and Terrebonne drew a throwing knife in each hand and drilled them into Rayce's flesh. The archon knew that while the small wounds he caused would not likely even slow down the Brujah primogen that was facing them, he was well aware of the fact that every wound Rayce had to heal would take blood away from him. The more blood kindred used to heal wounds, the less they would have to strengthen themselves for battle.

Metairie gave Rayce no time to recover. He sprang at him and ripped into his torso with razor sharp claws. Rayce moved quickly, but was already beginning to realize that the Justicar was more powerful than he had anticipated. Apparently, this was a Justicar that had been chosen for his combat ability rather than his diplomatic skills, which Rayce had noticed long before were lacking. The primogen managed to get a few steps between him and Metairie, and allowed his hands to also grow claws. He saw Terrebonne out of the corner of his eye, and ducked below the archon's attack. Terrebonne cursed as his longsword cut futilely through the air. The stroke he had thought would end the battle proved to be useless. Before he could bring the sword around again, however, he felt several bullets tear through his chest. Simon Templar ran into the room, emptying an entire clip of rounds from his MAC-10 in the direction of the archon that had attacked his primogen. Terrebonne hit the floor quickly and avoided most of the shots. He allowed his blood to pour into his wounds, repairing ripped flesh, bones, and muscle. He could hear Simon moving cautiously toward him, and he grinned with the knowledge that he would be ready to fight by the time his foe reached him.

With Terrebonne distracted, Rayce was able to concentrate on just the one opponent for the time being. He circled Metairie, each of the Brujah threatening the other with his claws. Neither seemed too impressed, however, nor should they have been. Rayce was confident that he would be able to defeat a Justicar. He had done so before, and was certain that he would do so again. Metairie, on the other hand, did not see Rayce as being anything more than another young upstart, a neonate who had been able to have himself declared primogen. He had no idea that Rayce was actually several centuries old.

Closer to the front of the building the fight was at a standstill. Jefferson, Orleans, and LaFourche had immediately met Denis, Tony, Simon, and Daria when the attacking Brujah had entered the conservatory. The archons had drawn pistols and forced Rayce's coterie to dive for cover, but Carter had quickly turned the tables. His aim, as always, was impeccable. .50 caliber rounds from his Barret streaked through the front of the conservatory, their luminescence betraying the phosphorous tips that each one had. Although he only managed to hit Jefferson, and it was a nonfatal shot at that, Carter was capable of keeping the archons pinned until his clanmates were able to heal the wounds they had taken upon entering. Daria had been the first one ready to fight, and had jumped at Bernard. That had allowed Rayce to go further into the building, and Simon had quickly followed. Within another minute, Denis and Tony were also prepared to do their bit in the struggle.

The three archons that Carter had pinned with his sniper fire had moved deeper into the building, keeping themselves out of range of his deadly weapon. Tony and Denis eagerly gave pursuit. From his treetop perch Carter cursed. He knew that he would no longer do any good from his current position. He glanced at his rifle and saw that his position no longer even mattered. The rapid firing of the phosphorous shells through the Barret had begun to melt the barrel. The weapon was useless. He jumped out of the tree and ran into the building, hoping that he would still be able to make a difference in the fight.

Metairie and Rayce continued to circle each other, neither one landing any significant hits against the other. Rayce continued to fight conservatively. He refused to allow the Justicar to hit him again, as the wounds from the claws would take awhile to heal. Rayce would not have time to mend his wounds. He knew he would be fighting again very soon. He also did not overextend himself against his opponent, being wary of opening himself up to a counter-attack.

"You are afraid, aren't you?" Metairie asked through lips parted in a thin, condescending smile. "You realize that I will eventually defeat you." Rayce did not reply, choosing instead to concentrate on the battle before him. The Justicar was slightly disappointed, and did not know what to make of the primogen's silence. So many times in battle, Metairie had gotten his opponent to start talking. Once he had accomplished that, they were distracted, making victory easier for the Justicar to achieve. Rayce, however, held his tongue and concentrated on the task at hand. Metairie decided that either Rayce was more disciplined than most of his other opponents, or he was more frightened and dared not divert any attention away from the battle. In his arrogance, Metairie silently decided that the latter alternative was more likely. _After all_, he pondered, _what Brujah had any significant amount of discipline in combat?_

Rayce's mind started to swim with alternative strategies. He had already realized that he was faster, stronger, and more experienced than the Justicar he was facing. The Brujah primogen had no doubts that he would win, despite the fact that he kept fighting as if the battle were between two equals. The trick for him would be to kill Metairie without opening himself up to injury. He began to let his mind wander, as a mortal might while driving a car. He matched every one of his opponent's attacks, but made no real conscious effort to do so. His body ran on pure instinct, allowing Rayce's mind to begin executing a new task. He focused his blood and his concentration, knowing that the Justicar in front of him would never be prepared for the attack that was to come. Behind Metairie, the ground started to move ever so slightly.

In an adjacent room, neither Tony nor Denis was anywhere near as confident of victory. In fact, they were unable to find the opponents that they had planned to fight. They walked into the next room side by side, each straining to see in the gray pre-dawn light that filtered through the glass above. Neither one was yet old enough to have developed the ability to see in darkness. In a shadow, the three archons grinned, seeing their prey clearly before them. Orleans gave a signal to wait until Rayce's two Brujah approached closer, and his two blood brothers remained motionless. Jefferson still fought to control the bleeding from his gunshot wound, and Orleans doubted that the injured archon would be of much use during the fray. However, he felt that between himself and LaFourche, the fight should not be too difficult. Denis and Tony continued, oblivious to the predators that crouched just a few feet away. Then it was too late. Both of the young Brujah were tackled to the ground and pinned by the older and stronger archons. LaFourche immediately sank his fangs into Denis, meaning to diablerize him. Tony was faster to react than his accountant clanmate, however. With a flick of his wrist he produced a .32 revolver into his left hand from a concealed holster on his forearm. As Orleans moved to drain the retired assassin's body, Tony emptied the chamber into his foe. Orleans fell back momentarily but righted himself in one fluid motion. Tony also rose, and drew a .357 Magnum from his shoulder holster. As Orleans rushed his opponent Tony emptied another chamber of bullets into the archon. This time, however, the effect was far greater than it had been with the .32.

Carter rushed into the room to find LaFourche finishing off Denis. With a sideways glance he saw Tony knock Orleans back with the Magnum. The bullets tore through muscle and sinew, spraying the vampire's vitae on the wall behind him. Orleans fell to the floor, but Carter knew that Tony's victory was temporary. So far the young Brujah had simply managed to delay the inevitable. Eventually, Carter knew, Tony would run out of bullets, and Orleans would finish him off. The ex-SWAT team sniper wished to rush to aid Tony, but knew that if he did so they would be overwhelmed when LaFourche had returned to the battle. Carter muttered a quick prayer that Tony would be able to hold Orleans off long enough, and then he drew a combat shotgun from his back and brought LaFourche into his sights. Carter could tell from the dull glaze over Denis' eyes that the archon had already succeeded in extinguishing him. _So much the better, _Carter realized. He would be able to fire at the archon without worrying about whether he hit his clanmate.

LaFourche looked up just in time to gaze down the barrel of Carter's weapon. He knew that he would not be able to escape the blast, but dove to the floor just the same, hoping to minimize the damage that was done. When he did so, however, he exposed his entire right side to Carter's sights. The sniper did not even need the wide opening that had been provided to him in order to put his enemy down. He pulled the trigger and shot straight through LaFourche's abdomen. The first sign to the archon that something was terribly wrong was the bright flash that assailed his vision. It was like nothing he had ever seen. It did not come from any outside source of light, but was akin to a strobe being flashed behind his eye. Then, as quickly as the flash had come, it had gone. In its wake was absolute darkness. LaFourche was blind but did not realize why. Then the pain hit him. He felt as if a bonfire spontaneously combusted within his body. He did not immediately realize that the shell that Carter had fired had contained phosphorous, but that fact was beginning to dawn on him. The archon could hear a voice in the deepest recesses of his mind calling out in desperation to him. He tried to hear what it said, but instead heard only a clap of thunder. His entire body shuddered as another phosphorous round tore into his body, this time passing straight his unbeating heart. Once again the old vampire could see, but all he could make out were two pinpoints of light. He could hear new voices calling out to him. No longer was his will to survive screaming at him to seek cover from Carter's attack. That voice had gone dead moments before when LaFourche's body had been extinguished. Now only the faintest remnants of his consciousness remained. The last impulses his brain would generate ran themselves out along his undead synapses, and LaFourche experienced oblivion. He was happier than he had been in years. The hunger was gone. His responsibility to his sire had expired.

When Jefferson heard the first shot ring out from Carter's rifle he immediately rose from his hiding place and began to circle behind the newcomer, moving as quickly as his devastatingly injured body could carry him. He came out from behind a large planter about ten feet behind Carter, and witnessed the sniper's second shot that killed the archon's blood brother. Jefferson's body and mind filled with rage, and he grabbed Carter from behind. Before Rayce's lieutenant could respond, he had been disarmed and thrown to the ground. Carter reached quickly for the shotgun, but Jefferson kicked it out of his reach. The archon then drew a knife and proceeded to cut into his young opponent. Jefferson, like Rayce, decided instantly that his opponent was no match for him. He allowed himself to settle down, making sure that he did not kill Carter quickly. He wished to make the Brujah suffer for his crime of destruction of an archon.

Meanwhile, Daria continued her battle at the entrance of the conservatory. Bernard had been grievously wounded when the female Brujah had begun to attack him, but his greater age and skill had given him the precious moments he had needed to recover from the damage that Rayce had done. Daria had been employing a wooden stake, hoping to impale her foe and then easily take his head. Bernard had quickly drawn a survival knife and had been able to parry all of Daria's attacks, while simultaneously healing the wound that Rayce had given him. The archon knew that all he had to do was prevent Daria from landing a thrust with her stake for only a few more minutes, and he would be able to finally beset her with all of the strength and skill of an enforcer of the Camarilla. Once he was able to attack, the young upstart would not even last a minute.

Simon ducked back as Terrebonne lunged at him with the longsword. The archon followed up the initial attack with a quick back-cut that caught Simon in the midsection, leaving a clean slash across the Brujah's abdomen. Simon blocked the next lightning-fast swing with his MAC-10, but knew that he was in extremely dire straits. The archon was moving too fast for him to be able to react. It was all Simon could do just to hold the archon at bay. He had absolutely no chance of being able to counter any of Terrebonne's thrusts. Metairie's enforcer realized Simon's situation, and he increased the rate of his sword thrusts to put further pressure on the fledgling. Simon seemed to be running backward to escape every swing of Terrebonne's sword, and the archon was keeping pace with his opponent while appearing to be only walking.

Twenty feet from Simon, Rayce was beginning to press Metairie harder. He wanted the Justicar to be completely oblivious to his surroundings until Rayce's plan had been completely set into motion. Behind Metairie the ground began to swell and rise up. Rayce's attacks slowed once again as he devoted more concentration to the task at hand. The earth began to take on a vaguely humanoid form, eight feet tall. The figure had no legs, instead seeming to possess a torso that extended directly into the ground. At its base the form swirled as earth surged over and around itself, allowing it to move while never breaking contact with the dirt that had spawned it. The arms of the creature were massive, and ended in large, fingerless hands and a thumb with a point capped by a stone, giving each hand a wicked cutting edge. The head appeared as a slightly smaller mound of earth on top of the larger one, akin to the head on a child's snowman. It had no mouth, but also had no need for one. This creature did not need to eat, and its only communication would be with its summoner, with whom it could communicate telepathically. Where its eyes would have been, there were two more stones, black as night. Rayce allowed a slight grin to cross his lips as he heard the creature first speak to him in his mind. It wished directions. It wanted to complete its term of service to its controller so that it could return to the safety of its home, miles below the surface of the earth's crust.

Metairie immediately noticed the look on Rayce's face, and he became concerned. For a few moments it had seemed as if Rayce had shown his true colors in an extremely effective sequence of attack combinations. Metairie had begun to doubt that he could win. However, as suddenly as it had begun, Rayce's surge had ceased. The Justicar had regained his composure and once again put the primogen on the defensive, but Metairie became disconcerted as he realized that Rayce was completely unconcerned with the situation. The Brujah clan's enforcer then heard something behind him, and concluded that Rayce must have been smiling because one of his allies had arrived to aid him. Metairie quickly ducked and rolled back, only to slam his head against the base of Rayce's conjured behemoth. He looked up and was unable to react for a few moments. What he saw looming above him defied every law of rationality that Metairie had ever known. He realized immediately that what he viewed was an earth elemental, though he had never seen one before. The Justicar of the Brujah clan looked back at Rayce, and saw the satisfied expression on the primogen's face. Metairie was suddenly lifted from the ground by the elemental and held fast. The earth that gave the creature its form swirled around the Justicar, entombing him within the elemental's body. Only Metairie's neck was exposed, and Rayce advanced to his restrained opponent and bit into the long-dead skin of the Justicar. Blood began to flow out, and Rayce drank deeply. He had expended a great deal of his own vitae healing injuries, speeding his movements, and in summoning the elemental. He would use Metairie's blood to replace what he had lost.

Inside the elemental's form, Metairie was aware of the fact that Rayce was feeding upon him. The Justicar screamed, but knew that he would not be heard. He was in complete shock as to what had happened to him, and then the confusion vanished in a flash of insight. Rayce was not of the Brujah clan. Metairie remembered stories of a breakaway group of kindred that had claimed to be of the Brujah. They had complained that the Brujah were dominated by the descendants of Troile, the kindred that had diablerized Brujah and forever altered the course of the clan's destiny. This breakaway group claimed that they were of a kindred that had not been of Troile. It was a concurrent bloodline, sharing many of the Brujahs' characteristics, but being set upon discipline in achieving their goal of being a clan of scholarly warriors. A civil war had ensued within the Brujah clan, and the breakaways had been destroyed, or so everyone had thought. The rebels had been masters of the elements, having an amazing amount of control over the natural world. Their elders had been able to summon elementals, and had used them to great effect against the elders of Metairie's bloodline. Rayce was obviously one of these upstarts. The Justicar tried in vain one last time to escape his earthy prison, but felt the last of his strength rapidly fading. He realized he would die, and that the truth that he had discovered would go undisclosed. Perhaps the next Justicar would also learn the truth, Metairie hoped. Perhaps the next Justicar would realize before it was too late to act.

Rayce stopped drinking from Metairie as soon as the blood supply had been drained completely. He had no wish to commit diablerie, as he did not desire the psychological baggage that went along with it. The primogen of San Francisco's Brujah had other things that needed to be done. He ordered the elemental to release its prisoner, and Metairie's limp body was dropped to the ground. Rayce drew his katana and took the Justicar's head from its shoulders. He left the corpse, knowing that the rapidly rising sun that was giving light to the room would dispose of any evidence of the undead. No mortals would endanger the Masquerade by examining the scene. Rayce then looked across the room and saw that Simon was in trouble. Even as he looked on, Rayce realized it was too late to help Carter's childe. He would never be able to get to him in time. Rayce's thoughts then turned to Carter. If the master plan were to remain intact, Carter would have to survive. Rayce gave the mental order to his elemental to finish off Terrebonne. After that task was accomplished, the summoned beast would be free to return home. He felt what seemed to be exhilaration come from the elemental, and it surged in the direction of the archon.

Terrebonne was oblivious to the elemental's approach. He had reached the point where he would be able to defeat Simon. The young kindred's blood had all been burned out. Simon was incapable of powering his movements any longer, and now posed no more threat than any mortal with an unloaded gun would. The archon swung his sword in a tight arc, hoping to take his opponent's head and end the fight immediately. Experience saved Simon from the attack, however. He dove backward and blocked the sword with his MAC-10 one last time. The longsword glanced off of Simon's weapon and took the kindred's hand off at the wrist. Simon did not scream with the pain. He realized that it was all over. He had landed flat on his back, and Terrebonne stood above him with the sword at his throat. The archon swiped quickly through the air and took off Simon's head, ending the battle. Only then did he catch movement out of the corner of his eye. He swung his head to the right and saw the elemental racing toward him. Experience in combat did not give Terrebonne any clue as to how to react. Never before had he ever seen anything akin to a charging earth elemental. The archon stood in indecision as the elemental's form rose higher out of the ground. Its form crashed down on the archon, enveloping him. The elemental then began to swim through the earth as quickly as it could, wishing to return home. Terrebonne's body was taken with the elemental, pushed through solid earth and rock at amazing speeds. The archon did not feel the pain of his journey for very long. His body began to break apart almost immediately. He felt his fingers being torn from the hand first, and then his left leg was sheared off as the elemental raced through a deposit of limestone. By the time Rayce's summoned ally had once again reached its abode, only a few tattered remnants of Terrebonne remained in the elemental's clutches. The rest of the vampire's body had been dispersed over the course of the four-mile voyage straight down into the earth.

As Rayce ran through the conservatory, he began to focus his blood for another summoning. He concentrated on the feel of the air as it passed over his skin, and began to call out into the wind with his mind. Within moments he heard a distant reply. He grasped onto the voice and used all of his will to command it, to bring the mystical consciousness under his control. The air around Rayce began to move with a life of his own as he approached the entryway. He saw Bernard cut into Daria and then fall upon her, intending to drain her of her life's blood. Rayce extended his mind outward, communicating with the air elemental that he had summoned. He then raced past Daria and Bernard, continuing on toward the large room where he could hear Carter and Tony fighting for their lives.

Daria saw the blur of motion that was her primogen as Rayce entered the room, and allowed herself a sigh of relief. Horror overcame her a moment later as Rayce ran past, not even showing the slightest sign that he intended to aid his bookkeeper. Daria tried once more to fight off Bernard, all the while knowing that doing so was a futile gesture. She had no chance of prying herself loose from his grasp, and instead prepared herself for oblivion. She thought back to the first night she had learned of the kindred, and had readily accepted their offer to enter the ranks of San Francisco's undead. How could she have refused? Life as a vampire would be one where youth was eternal. She would not grow old or sick, and would have more strength in her petite, feminine frame than she would ever have dreamt possible. Now she saw her folly. That fateful night had been a year and a half ago. Had she refused, she would still be young, and would not be held on the floor with an unbeatable archon at her throat. In attempting to grasp eternal youth and the fun that went with it, Daria had inadvertently brought herself to destruction. She felt herself grow cold as Bernard began to finish the last of her blood. She looked at the top of his head, the one part of his body that she could see with his fangs buried in her throat. Then he suddenly rose off of her, almost as if he had been grabbed from behind. His eyes went wide with surprise. Daria could only stare at the archon, not understanding what was going on. Then the first gust of wind hit her with the force of a hurricane's gale. Only then did Daria notice the small whirlwind that seemed to surround Bernard's body. The air that came from Rayce's air elemental cooled Daria's face, allowing her to relax. She suddenly felt safe. She was unable to fight Bernard, but it no longer mattered. The elements themselves seemed willing to aid the young Brujah in her battle.

Bernard tried with all of his strength to escape the elemental's grasp, but could not figure out a way to do so. There was nothing for him to grab a hold of, nothing for him to use as leverage. He was suspended in midair, held in place by the very wind that swirled around him. Had the elemental possessed the ability to smile, it would have done so. It knew of Rayce, and had in fact served him once before. It knew that the old Brujah was a summoner that would not abuse the favors that he could exact from the elements. Rayce had simply asked the elemental to keep watch over Daria until either he returned or the moon rose again. It was a simple task. All that seemed to be required was to destroy Bernard. The wind began to swirl tempestuously around the kindred, and Bernard felt his ears pop. Still he struggled to escape, not realizing how close the final death was for him. He never resigned himself to his fate as Daria had begun to.

The elemental began to force more and more air away from the kindred in its grasp. As an air elemental it could create wind, which was simply a flowing of air caused by areas of differing pressures within the atmosphere. The elemental began to create its own tiny pocket of varying air pressure. It denied Bernard of the oxygen that a human would have needed to breathe. While this in itself had no ill effect on the kindred, as he no longer needed breathable air to survive, he was rocked by the pain of having his lungs collapse. Only then did the archon realize the fate that the elemental had planned for him. The few remaining molecules of air around Bernard's body raced away from the vacuum caused by Rayce's elemental, and Bernard felt his skin begin to split along his veins and arteries. In a vacuum, water would boil at room temperature. While the archon was no longer alive, his body, like that of mortals, was comprised mostly of water. Bernard's horror increased as he realized that he had just gorged on Daria's blood, increasing the water content in his body. He could not have held much more than he already did. His right leg split open and then exploded in a red mist, spraying the kindred vitae on every wall in the conservatory's entrance. A moment later his left arm also burst with similar results. In desperation, Bernard threw every ounce of blood he could into his ruptured arm and leg. He bled all of his strength out of his grievous wounds so that the water in his blood could no longer be used to hurt him. Every surface in the room was covered with blood spraying from the elemental's whirlwind. Then Bernard was dropped. He had evacuated all of his blood from his system, and was driven into torpor, the coma-like sleep of the kindred. The archon would no longer be a threat to Daria's safety.

Daria wiped blood from her eyes and looked at Bernard's broken body. She then looked up at the sky shining through the glass above her. It would be daylight soon, and the sun would finish the job that she had been unable to. She forced herself up onto her hands and knees, unable to spend enough blood to heal the injuries that she had sustained in her fight. She then crawled behind a reception desk on the opposite side of the room. The desk was hoisted into the air, and Daria nodded with understanding. She laid her body flat on the floor, and the desk was placed gently on top of her by the elemental. She would not have to fear the sun that day.

As Rayce entered the large planting room he saw both Tony and Carter still on their feet but unable to fight much longer. The primogen realized he would only be able to save one of his clan members, and moved immediately to help Carter. Rayce pushed his childe aside as he drew his sword with a grin. Jefferson's heart sank into his stomach when he saw Rayce before him. The fact that Rayce was alive could only mean one thing – that Metairie was dead. Even more shocking, he could clearly see that Rayce looked no worse for wear. Jefferson lunged with his knife, hoping to strike the Brujah primogen before he cold raise his sword in defense. The tactic proved to be as futile as Jefferson had expected it would be. Rayce cut in a wide arc, slicing Jefferson's knife in half. The archon's eyes betrayed his fear, and Rayce slashed again with the sword, taking Jefferson's head from his shoulders. While Rayce would have enjoyed hurting the archon a bit before ending him, he realized that his first obligation was to his clanmates, and Tony was still on his feet across the room. Perhaps, Rayce silently hoped as he watched Jefferson's head hit the floor, he would be able to save both Carter and Tony after all.

As Rayce turned, he saw Orleans draw a dagger as he grabbed a hold of Tony. The archon plunged the dagger into Tony's heart, instantly sending him into torpor. In one quick motion he then picked the young Brujah's body off of the floor and hurled him across the room, into a spot of sunlight that had filtered in from above. Rayce watched in pain as Tony began to disintegrate before his very eyes. Orleans then turned toward Rayce, a malicious grin crossing his face. The primogen was overcome with rage and dashed across the room at the archon. Orleans could only make out a blur of motion as Rayce approached, and braced himself for the impact of Rayce's solidly built body. In timing himself to receive the charge, he had left himself open to other attacks, however. As Rayce ran he gathered his strength and hurled his katana at his foe. A moment before Rayce arrived at Orleans his sword had pierced the archon's chest, narrowly missing his heart.

Orleans tried to gather his strength, to fight back when Rayce reached him, but was unable to. The Brujah primogen grasped a hold of the katana's hilt and began to cut downward. Orleans screamed in agony as the sword slowly passed through skin, muscle and bone. He felt himself being cut in half lengthwise, but was suddenly unable to fight the attack. Carter had joined his sire and had immediately sunk his fangs into Orleans' neck. With his blood draining his body from two separate wounds, Orleans was unable to muster enough of it to give him the strength to resist Rayce. Within moments Orleans collapsed to the floor, unable to fight any longer. Rayce drew the sword from the archon's lower abdomen and took his head off quickly.

"We need to find cover," he said quickly as he pulled Carter off of the fallen kindred. "The sun is almost fully up." Carter then surveyed the room and was overcome with panic. In the sight of a dull blue sky he was petrified with fear. Just as Rötschreck affected a vampire when confronted by fire, so too was the sheer, innate terror caused by the sun, and it was great for the young Brujah to bear. Carter collapsed in a fetal position on the floor, shielding his eyes from the light. Rayce looked back quickly and saw his childe, then grabbed him up and ran toward a basement he had seen earlier. He and his childe would be able to spend the day in safety.

As he drifted off to sleep, Rayce reflected on his current situation. He had survived, but the only combat-effective Brujah that had emerged from the battle along with him were Carter and Daria. The next night he would have to get Conroy and Sam together with Carter and Daria so that he could give them all instructions on how they should play the next few years. Then he could fight the battle that he had waited so long for. Tomorrow night, Rayce knew, he would have vengeance.

CHAPTER 6

****

I

Rayce strode into the Pierce Street Annex with a triumphant air. He had faced the Justicar of the Brujah clan in battle, and had emerged victorious. While it was true that he had lost many members of his clan, he had actually come out better than he had planned. Rayce had thought it unlikely that anyone but he would survive, if in fact he made it out at all. However, Carter and Daria were also able to emerge from the encounter with the Justicar and his archons. Now his two clanmates walked behind him, Carter supporting Daria. The female Brujah had been too seriously wounded to heal herself yet, and she planned to take full advantage of the opportunities that the Annex would provide. Rayce and Carter, meanwhile, had a lot of serious business to discuss.

The Brujah primogen left Daria with one of the clan's ghouls, and proceeded directly back to his office. He and Carter walked in to meet with Sam Richards and Boris Conroy, the last surviving members of the Brujah clan.

"Did you make the call?" Rayce asked Sam immediately. The clan's accountant simply nodded in reply to the question. Rayce had wanted the Telemon to be notified that the attack against Metairie had succeeded. That would give Matt and his clan the green light for their strike against the Nightshades. Once Butterfly and her crew had been cleared out of the way, it would be safe for Rayce's clan to go back out on the streets. They would only be in San Francisco for a brief time, however. They would be leaving the city before the sun rose. It would not be long, Rayce knew, before the Inner Circle discovered that the Brujah Justicar and his archons had been extinguished. They would immediately arrange for a replacement, which would be in San Francisco as soon as possible.

"So what do we do now?" Carter asked his sire, echoing the thoughts of everyone in the office. Rayce sat down behind his mahogany desk and let out a slight sigh. He caressed the smooth surface of the wood, and gazed at every book on the office's shelf. After several minutes in silence, Rayce turned to each of his Brujah, having finally prepared himself for the speech he was to give.

"Tonight everything changes," Rayce said in a low tone. "I came to San Francisco with a dream. I wished to rebuild one of our clan's ancient glories. I wanted to build a city of trade and enlightenment, a center of strength and wisdom. That dream has been lost once again, just as it was before." The primogen rose from his chair and walked over to a print of the Golden Gate Bridge. He took the picture down, revealing a wall safe. His fingers worked along the combination lock quickly, and within moments he had opened the door. A smile briefly crossed his face as he saw a picture of himself and Johnny Yashida at Mardi Gras. He immediately realized that his Telemon friend must have found the safe the night before, while he had been fighting Metairie, and had left a present for him. He took the picture out and read the writing on the back. 'Don't forget that there are also good times,' it said. Rayce took the picture and put it in his jacket pocket, and then began to take out some of his paperwork.

"These are the titles to all of the clan's holdings in San Francisco and down along the coast," Rayce said as he handed a file to Carter. His childe did not know how to react, and could only stand silently, waiting for clarification of what Rayce was planning. "Sam, you are to handle all economic matters for our interests. Is that understood?" Sam once again nodded in response to his primogen's question.

"What's going on?" Boris asked, not liking the tone of the meeting.

"I will be taking my leave of you," Rayce replied sullenly. "Carter is now the head of the clan. You will all take your orders from him."

"What?" Carter asked, dumbfounded. "I'm not ready for that, sire. I'm just an enforcer, nothing more."

"You have incredible potential," Rayce replied with a gentle smile. "You all do," he added, looking to Boris and Sam. "I would not have allowed you to be brought into my clan otherwise." All three of the young Brujah smiled, flattered by Rayce's compliment. "The fact of the matter is that there will be a reckoning for what we did last night. I have to ensure that everything is taken care of. You will never truly be targets, as no one in the Inner Circle will ever suspect that you could have pulled off an attack such as that successfully. In that assumption they would of course be correct. They will be looking for me, and if I am near you, you will also be in danger." He looked his clan over, making sure that they believed what he was telling them. "If you leave the city, you should be safe." That part was easy for him to say, as he knew that it was true, at least for the most part. Rayce reached into the safe again and pulled out a business card that only had a phone number and address on it. He handed it to Carter, and then gave his clan its final instructions.

"Go to this address," Rayce explained. "You will be safe there. Then call this number. Tell the man that answers that you are my progeny, and that you are at my haven. He will understand, and will get you out of the city safely."

"I don't want to leave the city," Boris said quickly. "This is my home."

"Then stay," Rayce replied simply. "No one left alive but Luna knows that you exist. You will be safe enough as long as you lay low." Rayce then turned to Sam and Carter. "You two, however, are definitely known. I wouldn't recommend you remain."

"I think we both agree," Carter replied, looking at his clanmate. Sam nodded.

"The man you call will explain everything to you," Rayce said. "Bring Daria with you to my haven, even though she will not be accompanying you after."

"Why not?" Carter asked. It struck him as strange that someone that had walked through fire with the rest of the clan would apparently be left out in the end.

"Other arrangements have been made for her," Rayce replied. "Once again, that will be explained later. All that is necessary at this point is obedience. You do not yet need to understand." Rayce looked over his three Brujah for a moment, and then started walking toward the door.

"Wait until you get a call from the Telemon before you leave," he instructed. "At that point you will know that the Nightshades will not be a threat to you."

"What about Basil?" Sam asked, obviously concerned about the Brujah-hunting Ventrue.

"You will not need to worry about him either," Rayce explained. "Arrangements have been made to deal with him." The Brujah primogen paused a moment to look over the remnants of his clan, and a thin smile passed over his face. "You have all learned as much as I can teach at this time. You are ready to go out into the world and find your own destiny. I have my own, and you can't join me. Whatever happens, just remember that there are also good times." With that Rayce walked through the door, leaving Carter, Sam, and Boris to ponder what was to come.

****

II

Rayce tore along the freeway at breakneck speeds in his Porsche 911 Turbo, seething more and more with every passing moment. The rage of centuries had finally begun to burst forth, and he was powerless to avoid it. He tried to concentrate on anything else – the feeling of the air blowing through his hair, the beauty of the Bay Area, the unlikely chances of the Giants beating out the New York Mets for the playoff wildcard spot, anything but the fact that he had only a few more hours left to live. It was impossible. He had made all of the correct moves, and now everything would come crashing down around him.

Rayce began to consider the true nature of his feelings. Did he truly hate Basil the way that he thought he did? He had waited for centuries for the opportunity to destroy the vampire that had killed his own sire, and now that the opportunity had presented itself, he wondered whether this was what he truly wanted. His hatred of Basil had given him purpose. Basil had been the personification of Rayce's hatred of the entire Ventrue clan. Whenever Rayce had found himself coming to appreciate the Ventrue clan's methods, he had only to remember Basil, and the loathing that his elders had taught him to direct toward all Ventrue would burn once again in his heart. Would he begin to feel the disdain again once Basil was gone? Rayce pushed the thought out of his mind. He realized that he was looking for any excuse, however dubious, to avoid the fate that he knew awaited him.

Rayce would have to die, that was the only way out of the situation. The new Justicar would seek him out. That much was certain. He would come to San Francisco and start looking into the secrets that Rayce had managed to hide from everyone. The Justicar would discover that Rayce belonged to the line of Hadrubal, a bloodline thought destroyed since Medievum. Once that were discovered, the elders of the Brujah clan would seek to purge the clan once again of all taint, as they were almost all members of the line of Troile. The True Brujah, those descended from the founder of the clan before Troile's betrayal, would be at risk right along with Hadrubal's line. In order to prevent this, Rayce would have to make sure that everyone knew that he had been responsible for the death of the Justicar. He would claim that his progeny had all been destroyed in the attack. Then he himself would be killed. The crime would be explained and the guilty punished. No new Justicar would spend too much time investigating Metairie's death. In all likelihood, his replacement would be the kindred that Metairie would have beaten out in the race to become Justicar of the clan. They would have been political rivals. The new Brujah Justicar would seek to keep everything as quiet as possible, in order to avoid making Metairie a martyr. Besides, Rayce mused, it would not be in a Justicar's best interests to spread around the fact that a lowly New World primogen had been able to destroy the Justicar and his archons. It would greatly diminish the intimidation factor of all Justicars.

Rayce downshifted and slammed on the gas, driving up on the shoulder to get around a couple of trucks that had blocked traffic. He cursed as he passed them, and then reaccelerated back to about 110 mph as he neared his exit. If he were to die, Rayce had decided, he would do so in a manner of his own choosing. He would face Basil in single combat. While he knew that this would mean almost certain death, it did not matter. If he were to die, it was not to be considered something unexpected. If he won, so much the better. He would simply allow one of Basil's bodyguards to avenge his master once the fight was done. Rayce guided the Porsche off of the freeway and toward the Bay. He wanted to see the water one last time.

Moments later, Rayce brought the vehicle to a stop. He looked out over the Bay, smiling as he saw a slight mist already forming over the cool water. The city had more beauty than almost any place Rayce had ever seen. It had been the perfect choice for him to institute his plans of creating a new Carthage. It could be argued that the ancient Phoenician city had been the center of enlightenment in the Mediterranean for centuries following the decline of Greek civilization. Unfortunately, however, it did not have the population that Rome had possessed. Its military might laid in its navy, as mercenaries staffed its army almost exclusively. The Ventrue that had controlled Rome had made certain that Carthage had been destroyed, that their Brujah rivals fell from their positions of influence. The dream had died over two thousand years before, and it would die once again.

Rayce looked up at the sky, noting all of the constellations. As a boy, over seven hundred years ago, he had loved to lie out in the field by his father's farm and gaze up at the stars. If he concentrated hard enough, Rayce could block out the sounds of the city and pretend that he was home once again. He could hear his mother's voice calling to him from their cottage, telling him to come inside. She warned him that evil spirits would prey upon children in the night. His father, a unique man for the time in not being overly superstitious, would scoff at his wife's fears. In the end, Rayce realized, it had been his irrational mother that had been correct. His father, always so logical, had been unable to accept the fact that God would allow evil spirits to walk the earth for eternity, preying upon mankind. How true it all was.

Seven hundred years later Rayce still walked the earth. It had been a long time, but soon it would end. Rayce began to fear what would happen to him in the coming hours. He had never been religious, at least not since his embrace, but he knew the basic tenets of the Christianity that had been the basic faith of his homeland. The just would go to heaven and enjoy infinite bliss. The impure would go to hell and burn for all eternity. It was unfortunate, Rayce thought, that there was no middle ground. There should be a place like New York where one could have a good time one day and meet misfortune the next. That would be more fair. What about those that had committed heinous acts in order to serve a greater good? That was how he felt about himself. What would happen to his soul when he died? Did he even possess a soul, or was that gift lost to him when he had been embraced? These were the questions that terrified him.

Rayce then accepted what was truly wrong – he had been alive for too long. He had gotten used to living, and did not feel that he should have to go to the trouble of having to adapt to a new state of existence. He had become set in his ways. If there were nothing beyond for him to adapt to, then Rayce would lose everything, so much more than a mortal would. He had lived for centuries, and would live for several more if left to his own devices. Mortals did not have as much to lose. They lived for only a few decades, and then they moved on, or ceased to exist, depending on what religion one listened to. How could Rayce go into his death without feeling anxiety or fear? He shook away the thoughts. It was not his place to question his fate, he rationalized. He was faced with what he needed to accomplish, and the sooner he accepted that the sooner he could feel at ease. He walked back to the car and got in. He knew he would have to fight Basil, but he wanted one last time to see the city for which he had held such high hopes. Once that was done, he would meet oblivion.

****

III

"So, how much of this C-4 stuff are we going to need?" Sasha asked Melinda. The Nightshade shrugged her shoulders in response. Sasha then walked over to Butterfly, who appeared to be the gang's resident explosives expert. "Is this enough?" she asked the leader of the anarch gang.

"Absolutely," Butterfly responded. "The Pierce Street Annex might look big and strong, but there were cracks formed in the foundation in that earthquake in '89. It won't take as much as you think to bring it down like a house of cards." Butterfly smiled as she spoke, though it was not because of her glee in planning to hurt Rayce. She was happy because she had come to be respected as a warrior. She had done so much better than her sire and grandsire, she felt. Her sire was a failure, and her grandsire was an ignorant glory-hound. She had succeeded where they had failed – she was independent, yet still strong. She was Brujah.

"Ok," Sasha replied as she walked back to Jenni. The child was playing Rummy with Cash, and seemed to be completely oblivious to the excitement of those around her. The word on the streets was that Rayce had destroyed the Justicar and his archons, a feat that no one had thought possible. However, anyone with a brain would be able to figure out that he would have taken heavy losses in such an attack. The time was right to strike him at his home, in the Annex. The entire lot of the remaining Brujah would probably be there, and any that were not would be easily finished off later. Victory was finally in sight for the Nightshades.

"Would you stand still?" Cash asked Sasha as she walked up to the two kindred. "You keep pacing around, and it's driving me crazy."

"I'm not pacing," Sasha retorted. Still, she admitted to herself that she had in fact been pacing. She had feared in the beginning that they would not last even a couple of days in this war. In the end, though, they would win. She could hardly believe it. Once the Nightshades finished off Rayce, they would be able to help Cash end the war within his own clan. There would be peace again very soon. She looked over her Gangrel lover, and saw that he seemed to be extremely preoccupied. He was making mistake after mistake in his game with Jenni.

"What's wrong?" Sasha asked Cash, hoping that she could help put him at ease. She walked up behind him and put her lover in a strong hug, almost smothering the ringing of Cash's cell-phone. Cash gently nudged Sasha away as he answered the call. Butterfly had asked him to send his remaining loyal Gangrel out onto the streets to make sure that the Brujah would all be in the Pierce Street Annex when the Nightshades attacked. Cash knew that this would be the call he had been waiting for, and he hoped that the news he received was nothing that Butterfly would want to hear.

"Hello?" Cash asked.

"It's me," Cash heard, recognizing Jana's voice. "We're right outside. What's the situation?"

"All of them?" Cash asked, knowing that everyone in the room was listening to his conversation. "We couldn't have asked for it to be more perfect," he added, as if he were responding to something Jana had said.

"They'll be coming in in about thirty seconds," Jana said, alerting Cash to the imminence of their plan.

"Great," Cash replied evenly. "Stay there and keep an eye out for Shelly." The Gangrel then folded up the phone and turned to Butterfly. "They said that the Brujah are all there, even Rayce. It looks like it's some kind of meeting." Cash giggled inside his head, gazing at Butterfly's face. He wanted to scream at her that she would be dead in a matter of minutes, and that he had caused it. He wanted to see how the smug anarch would deal with his taunting. He held his tongue, however, not wanting to ruin the surprise that Butterfly would receive in a matter of moments.

"Great," Butterfly replied with a victorious smile. "Tonight it ends." Cash gave a knowing nod in response, then turned back to the cards. No one noticed as he slowly moved his left hand to the Glock that was hidden in the small of his back.

A moment later there was a flash of light, and glass from the skylight rained down upon the kindred in the warehouse. Butterfly looked up in surprise and saw four men in black, repelling into the building, each wielding what appeared to be an MP-5. Almost simultaneously the door blew in off its hinges and Magnus raced into the room, followed closely by Michelle. Before Sasha could draw her Magnum, Michelle had a knife at her throat and Magnus had a shotgun pointed at Jenni's head. Cash, sitting only a few feet from the attackers, did not move. He allowed his pistol to lie unused in his left hand.

Behind them, Matt, Holden, Brad, and Striker cut into the Nightshades with automatic weapons fire. Within moments, Melinda, Kazz, Erin, Monique, and Jeri were lying on the floor, unable to fight back. Butterfly had raced out the back door, and was allowed to flee. The Telemon had prepared something special for the anarch leader.

Sasha made a quick move for a knife hidden in the small of her back, but Cash grabbed her forearm as she wrapped her hands around the weapon's hilt. "Don't even think about it," Cash warned. Sasha released the weapon, and glared at Cash. The Gangrel seemed indifferent to the fact that the Telemon were taking the heads off of the wounded Nightshades, bringing a sudden and brutal end to the war in a way that Sasha had not expected.

"You were supposed to be neutral," Sasha spat at Magnus, who was still holding Jenni at gunpoint.

"Shut your mouth, or I'll smear every wall in this room with pieces of this girl's head," the old German threatened. Sasha immediately realized she would get nowhere with Magnus, and instead turned on Cash.

"Did you know about this?" she asked in an accusatory tone.

"Your irresponsibility caused my clan to tear itself apart," Cash replied. "Michelle came to me with a plan to put things right again, so I took it." Sasha glared at Michelle, the Gangrel from outside the city.

"You had no right to get involved," she yelled. "This was our fight, not yours."

"How little you know," Michelle replied. "Soon you'll understand, and then maybe you'll learn to do as you're told. I doubt it, since you're Brujah and all, but there's always a chance."

Outside, Butterfly raced down the alley to her motorcycle. She realized that her entire gang had probably just been killed, but she had not lived as long as she had by sticking around to fight unless she had a reasonably good chance of winning. She could rebuild the Nightshades, she knew. For one as young as she was, her blood was fairly potent. She just needed to get away and buy herself some time. She hopped onto her Harley and tried to start it, only to get no more than a faint clicking sound. She tried again, but received the same result. Above her in the warehouse the gunshots ceased, and she knew that the attackers had probably already won. It had not taken them long. With fear and disgust she concluded that it must have been the Telemon. The goddamned Telemon had destroyed her plans once again. She tried the bike once more, only to get no result.

"You won't get that thing to start again without at least an hour's work," a familiar voice said from a shadow. Butterfly hid the fact that she had been startled, and stepped off of the bike confidently.

"Johnny?" she asked, fairly certain that the man was Yashida. "Is that you?"

"You need to ask?" Johnny inquired as he walked out of the shadow and into the anarch's sight. "Has it been that long?" Butterfly looked the Telemon over quickly, noting immediately that each hand held a pistol. In addition, she figured, the black trenchcoat he was wearing could be concealing almost any number of weapons.

"What do you want?' Butterfly asked innocently.

"I think you already know the answer to that," Johnny replied. In a flash he raised the Berettas and fired a burst from each into the anarch's body. Butterfly was knocked from her feet, falling against the Harley. The motorcycle crashed to the ground, but Butterfly immediately rose defiantly to her feet. "You want to do this the hard way?" Johnny asked. He fired each pistol again, and another six slugs buried themselves in Butterfly's body. "The hard way is just fine with me," Johnny commented, taking a few steps toward Butterfly. The anarch lay on the ground in a small pool of blood. Yashida could see the bullet wounds healing in front of his eyes, and had to admit that he was impressed at Butterfly's ability to recover from physical damage.

"It didn't have to be like this, you know," Yashida continued, raising his guns again. He then heard a shotgun being pumped off to his left, and the Telemon dropped to one knee and whirled. He saw Sasha leveling a weapon at him, and in the blink of an eye he reset the pistols for single-shot firing. Johnny did not want to permanently damage the prince's niece, but he was more than willing to hurt her a little. Sasha fired wide, and Johnny proceeded to fire both Berettas at the Brujah, wishing to put her down fast so that he could once again concentrate on Butterfly. He did not want the anarch to escape him again. Johnny was initially confused when every shot seemed to pass through Sasha's body, not harming her in the least. The bullets all ricocheted off of the wall behind her. It was then that Johnny realized the Brujah had been an illusion. He rolled backward and sprang to his feet, bringing Butterfly to bear once again. The anarch was ready for the Telemon's acrobatics, though, and fired at Johnny with her Glock.

Johnny hit the ground and rolled again, rising to his feet and immediately taking to the air, hovering a few feet above the sidewalk. Butterfly was shocked at the new powers that Johnny was exhibiting, and was delayed in continuing her attack. It was all the time Yashida needed. He opened up with his pistols again, knocking Butterfly to the ground once more.

"I'm impressed," he commented. "I was not aware that you could use Chimerstry." Johnny referred to the vampiric ability to create illusions. Those that were especially adept at the skill could create sound to accompany the visual component, as Butterfly had done. The power was a closely guarded secret of the Ravnos, one of the independent clans of the kindred world. He was curious how Butterfly had come to know the power, and concluded with disgust that she had probably traded some secret of her own clan. She had never had respect for her roots.

"Well, I didn't know you could fly," Butterfly replied.

"Touché," Johnny said. "Still, I find it hard to extinguish you when you show so much promise." He looked Butterfly over again, building up the resolve to perform the duty that he knew he needed to carry out. "Of all the childer I embraced, I have never experienced utter failure as I have with you," Johnny added. "I guess this is long overdue."

"What, you're going to kill me for being true to our Brujah roots and questioning the authority of those that attempt to take our independence?" Butterfly challenged. "I thought you had a brain, unlike the rest of your clan."

"Our clan," Johnny corrected. "You are Telemon also, or have you forgotten?" He could not hide his disappointment, as even in the face of death Butterfly disavowed her heritage.

"I never claimed that distinction," Butterfly retorted, knowing she needed to stall her sire for at least another few seconds if she wished to heal herself enough to have a fighting chance against him.

"As I remember, your crimes are a little more serious than not wishing to be part of the clan," Johnny said. "You actively plotted against us."

"No I didn't," Butterfly responded. She was surprised that Johnny had found out about her machinations. Apparently, she figured, she had not been as sneaky as she had thought.

"You tried to turn the city's Brujah against Siras, the founder of our clan," Johnny replied. "You withheld vital information about the lairs of Sabbat vampires and the number of garou in the city. You did everything in your power to get us all killed."

"You've withheld information," Butterfly shot back, hoping that Johnny would see his hypocrisy.

"That was different," Yashida replied. "I withheld minor details. I did not try to conceal the fact that a Sabbat elder had been sent to the city to assassinate every last member of the Telemon clan. That incident almost got us all killed."

"So?" Butterfly asked, almost completely disinterested. "Am I supposed to care? I didn't want to play your reindeer games." Johnny started to speed toward the anarch, having had enough of their conversation. He knew that were they to talk any more, he would lose his resolve. He had followed Butterfly across the country as she sowed discord and recruited for her gang. It would all end in San Francisco.

The Telemon drew a ninja-to as he neared Butterfly, but the anarch raised a metal pipe that had been lying next to her and parried the attack. Johnny landed and allowed blood to freely pour though his body. His strength and coordination increased to superhuman levels, and his movements occurred with lightning speed. Butterfly waved the pipe in front of her, but in the end could simply not keep up with her sire. Where she had developed her abilities to be a more efficient manipulator and sower of chaos, Johnny had developed himself into a spy and assassin. Within seconds he had disarmed Butterfly and slashed her several times across the legs and arms. The anarch fell to the ground, unable to stand any longer. Johnny loomed above her and drove his sword straight through his childe's heart, depriving her of any awareness of what would follow. He did not want her to have the knowledge, even for a second, that he had destroyed her. He could not bring himself to be so cruel.

Yashida bent over his childe and sank his fangs deep into her throat. He began to drink fully, gorging himself on her blood. When there was nothing left to drink, Johnny continued to feed. He felt the very essence of his childe pass into him, and with it a small piece of himself. It was then that he gained what had been Butterfly. With her strength came her memories, her knowledge, and perhaps even a part of what humans would term a soul. The Telemon was assaulted by everything that Butterfly had ever felt – all of her hatred, insecurity, and independence. He fought to keep it all under control, and moved away from Butterfly's body.

Johnny heard the door to the warehouse open, and he saw Magnus and Matt escorting Sasha and Jenni. Cash walked along with Holden, and Michelle bolted from the door to go talk with Yashida.

"You ok?" she asked as soon as she reached him.

"No," Johnny replied. "I have to go. I owe an old friend a favor."

"What? Who?" Michelle asked, confused. As far as she knew, they had accomplished everything that they had set out to. They were supposed to be leaving the city.

"I owe Rayce a quick death, a luxury that he is unlikely to receive if I don't help," Yashida answered. With that he took off into the sky, immediately blending in with the shadows of the city.

****

IV

Basil walked confidently up to Julian Luna's mansion, leaving his bodyguards standing next to his limousine. He felt he had gotten past the need for protection. He had been in San Francisco for weeks, killing at will. None of his victims had put up a fight worth mentioning, and even the prince of the city seemed powerless to stop the ancient Ventrue's rampage. It almost felt like the old days to Basil Romanov. It reminded him of the Middle Ages, when he and his kind could walk amongst anyone they pleased without fear of retribution. Of course, that had been before the Inquisition. Things had changed. He was glad that at least a small piece of his freedom seemed to have returned after so many years. True, he could still not walk amongst mortals if they were aware of his true nature, but at least he could strut amongst any of the kindred in the Bay Area. They all knew the name and face of Basil the Butcher, and they all feared him.

Basil opened the front door and walked into Julian's home unannounced, not caring whether the prince took offense or not. After all, Luna would be powerless to do anything significant. He could just bitch and moan about the intrusion. Basil walked through the empty halls, noting that Julian no longer seemed to feel there was a need to defend himself against his elder. The thought made Basil smile, as he knew he would be able to destroy Luna with little more than a thought if he ever needed to. As luck would have it, though, such action was not necessary. The old Ventrue walked into Julian's study and found him gazing at the fire.

"Good evening Basil," Julian said smoothly, not seeming at all concerned about Basil's presence. He had gotten used to Basil's lack of etiquette, and had in fact come to expect it. He had also come to expect the old Ventrue to continue wearing his sword around the mansion, an offense that Julian would generally not have tolerated. Since the rule of Archon it had been tradition to be unarmed around the prince of the city.

"No guards tonight, Julian?" Basil responded with a sneer. "You know, there is a war going on in the city. You should be more careful. We wouldn't want anything to happen to you." Julian looked at Basil with a dismissing glance, and then turned back to the fire for a few moments before he responded.

"Basil Romanov, you will immediately leave my city," Julian said flatly. His utterly confident, monotone voice caught Basil by surprise. He had not known Archon's childe to behave so assertively. He quickly recovered, however, and eagerly fought back in the verbal conflict he felt Julian was looking for.

"Oh really?" Basil asked arrogantly. "Why is that?"

"Because I have had enough of your insolence," Julian shot back, standing from his leather chair. His eyes began to glow a dull yellow, betraying the rage that he felt. The prince had heard about the destruction of Metairie and his archons, and word had come to him minutes before that Butterfly and her gang had also been extinguished. The war was over, and he was once again free to act as he pleased. He would no longer be made impotent by the events around him. He no longer needed to watch his every move, concerned that either Rayce or Sasha could be destroyed by his actions. He could once again rule as he wished, and he wished to have Basil Romanov leave his city. "You will cease your attacks on the Brujah," Julian demanded. "You have your own city across the bay. Go there and do as you wish. If I hear that you ever kill again in my city, I'll send you straight to hell."

"You haven't a chance," Basil replied. "I could rip you apart with my bare hands."

"It's funny," Julian responded after a brief moment of thought. "Everyone in the city seems afraid of the Telemon clan, citing their experience in combat. What they seem to forget is that for decades I did what they do now. I am worlds more deadly than any of them, as you will quickly discover if you don't get out of my home. Now."

"I never meant to overstay my welcome," Basil said, relenting. "My orders were simply to help you restore order. I felt the best way to do that would be to exterminate the Brujah that were involved. You shouldn't have minded, Julian. They're animals. They deserve to be put down, destroyed like vermin are exterminated by the mortals. If you wish me to leave, then I will do so." Despite his words, Basil made no motion to depart.

"When?" Julian asked, pressing the issue. He had no desire to allow the older Ventrue to play the situation out, gaining an opportunity to stay and cause more chaos.

"I will leave immediately," Basil answered. He saw how serious Julian had become, and suddenly felt a slight sense of guilt. At least, that is, he thought it was guilt. It had been so long since he had experienced the sensation that he now doubted whether he was identifying it correctly. However, he was sure that he did not like Julian's response to his behavior. His intentions had been pure, but it was often said that the road to hell was paved with good intentions. Now Basil saw the truth in the statement.

"Excellent," Julian replied as he turned once more to the fire. The glow in his eyes seemed to lessen somewhat as he allowed himself to relax. He had fully expected Basil to resist, and now did not know how to react.

"I apologize if I have offended you," Basil said, lowering his eyes to the floor. He had suddenly realized that any hold he would have on Oakland would be tenuous at best. It seemed very likely that he would need help from Luna in the early stages of his grab of the other side of the bay. He would need to make sure that Julian felt he were truly contrite. "If ever you need something, Julian, don't hesitate to come to me."

"You either," the prince replied. He knew full well what Basil's motives were in apologizing, but he did not mind. For Julian, all that mattered was that Basil was family. In the end, the blood controlled every aspect of kindred existence. If Julian could not forgive his own sire's blood brother and once again consider him a friend, then how could he manage the endless centuries that lay ahead? If he could never forgive, he would always be alone.

Basil walked casually out the door, and Julian slowly raised a glass of red wine. He said a silent toast to himself and took a long sip, savoring the fruity bouquet that wet his lips. The wine was a special vintage, perhaps the greatest one that his mortal grandchild, August Octavio, had ever vinted. Each bottle was saved for a special occasion. This night would qualify for the prince of San Francisco. He had avoided taking sides in a war, and everything had worked out. Rayce had won, and reports were that Sasha still lived. He would need to hear the details, but he remained confident that he could face anything that happened. It was at that moment that the Luna Mansion shook violently, the windows in the front of the building being blown in.

Outside, Basil stood open-mouthed in shock as he gazed at his burning limousine, destroyed by what looked like a grenade launched from somewhere down the driveway. He could see two of his guards inside the vehicle, their bodies being vaporized in the inferno. Calloway and Spinno lay on the ground, appearing seriously injured, though Basil assumed that they still lived. In the blink of an eye, a red Porsche 911 Turbo pulled up behind the incinerated limousine. The roof was up, obstructing Basil's view of the driver, but the Ventrue knew that Rayce owned the German sports car. Rayce opened the door and started to walk purposefully toward Romanov, taking a brief moment to make certain that at least one of the Ventrue's guards had survived the blast. It would be necessary for one to live so that he could kill the Brujah primogen once the fight was done. Otherwise Rayce's plan would fail, even if he succeeded in killing Basil.

From Julian Luna's roof, Thorne sat unseen in rapt attention, waiting for what he figured would be the greatest demonstration of kindred strength that he had seen in almost a century. Two elders were about to fight to the death. Such was not a common occurrence, he knew, and the old kindred set up a high-speed video recorder to save the moment. He would wish to examine the strategy of the victor at a later date.

"Who are you?" Basil asked the Brujah primogen as he approached. He had long thought that Rayce had been so much more than he had ever let on, but he could never prove it.

"I am the childe of Callius Moren, who you killed in 1348," Rayce replied with a savage look crossing his face. "I have been waiting 650 years to avenge his death, and now oblivion comes for you Butcher." He hoped that in revealing his age he would intimidate the Ventrue at least a slight bit. Basil, for his part, looked somewhat unimpressed.

"Well, it looks like you missed your chance," Basil replied calmly, glancing toward the limousine. He hid the utter shock that he was feeling. So many centuries earlier, in the war of the Brujah, Callius Moren had been one of a splinter bloodline that had been thought destroyed. Apparently they had proven to be more resilient than had been assumed. Basil searched back into his memory, trying to remember what he could about the bloodline that spawned his foe. He remembered instantly – they were masters of the elements. The elders had been known to call elementals to aid them in their battles. As Rayce would, at this point, qualify as an elder, great care would need to be taken.

"It was not my intent to blow you up," Rayce replied with a grin. He drew his broadsword and waved it threateningly at the Ventrue. The Brujah had not used the blade in combat for centuries, having preserved it for only the foes that he had planned to avenge himself upon. The last time it had been wielded against kindred was in the battle against Nicodemus the Praetor. Rayce knew also that he would never use the sword again. Indeed, he would never need to. Basil then reached behind him and drew his own broadsword from its sheath and started to advance on the waiting Brujah.

"Are you so willing to die?" Basil taunted. "I remember your people as being more intelligent than the average Brujah, or at least the average rat. Is there any difference, anyway?" He attacked Rayce, swinging his sword in a wide arc. The Brujah parried the sword with a blur of motion, and countered. Basil started to burn his blood quickly, using it to power his movements. Both men became almost impossible to see, so fast were their motions.

Julian came to the front door of his mansion, shotgun in hand, looking to defend his home against whoever had attacked him. He immediately saw Basil and Rayce in combat, and was struck motionless with awe. He had never seen anything like the spectacle that was before him. Both men attacked, parried, and countered with the experience born of centuries of practice and experience. He thought back to the threats he had made against Basil, and suddenly realized the truth of what the older Ventrue had said. Julian would never have stood a chance against him. The prince of the city began to understand why it was that the elders of the kindred world were accorded such respect and fear. He continued to stare, seemingly hypnotized by the dance being played out in front of him. The swords moved so quickly that they no longer sounded as if they were clanging against each other in a duel. It seemed more as if there was one constant ringing of metal against metal.

Thorne also watched the battle, but with the eye of a man who had seen countless such displays. He was not awed, as indeed he could have jumped from the roof and fought either man toe to toe. Instead of amazed, Thorne was simply impressed. He hoped against hope that Rayce would win, but he knew that Basil had the edge. Being one generation older than his Brujah opponent, Basil would be able to store and make use of more blood than Rayce could. Of course, Rayce had been training for centuries, just as Basil had, but after five centuries, how much more expertise could be gained? It seemed likely that the two men would be equals in ability. The separate talents that they had developed over the years would decide their fates.

"I lost everything," Rayce screamed at Basil. "My whole clan has been destroyed. All of my childer are dead. You killed my elders. I have nothing to lose. Do you know what Sun Tzu says about an opponent like me?" Rayce had noticed that Julian was at the door, and all of his screaming was for the prince's benefit. He needed for the leaders of the city to believe that Carter and the others had been extinguished. That way they would never be sought out. Rayce knew it was unlikely anyway, but he needed to be sure.

"Sun Tzu warns to never fight a desperate enemy," Basil said, replying to Rayce's question. "A man with nothing to lose but his own life is capable of anything."

"That's right," Rayce shouted, increasing his speed a slight bit more. The Brujah began to sweat blood as the muscles of his body tried desperately to cool themselves, but to no avail. He lunged in recklessly at Basil and cut viciously across the Ventrue's abdomen. In return, Basil impaled Rayce through the left shoulder, missing his heart by inches and managing to throw him to the ground. Rayce then swung at Basil's sword and cut the blade, rendering the weapon all but useless in a fight between two masters. Rayce pried the sword's tip from his shoulder as he rose to his feet, and Basil rushed the Brujah, hoping to get close to him before Rayce could raise his sword in defense. In another blur of motion, Rayce thrust the broken sword tip into Basil's chest as the Ventrue reached him. Romanov was instantly sent into torpor and dropped to the ground.

Rayce caught movement from the corner of his eye, and realized that Basil's guards were stirring. He would have no time to savor his victory. He raised his broadsword, intending to take the Ventrue's head from his shoulders, but was suddenly knocked back by a shotgun blast. Julian Luna stepped off of his stairs and moved hesitantly toward Rayce, not knowing if he would be able to get a shot off before the Brujah could reach him. Rayce dropped to one knee, no longer able to stand. Between the blood he needed to burn in his battle and the wounds he had taken, he was no longer able to protect himself. Thorne cursed the interference of the prince of San Francisco, and considered quickly whether he should also take part in the confrontation. He knew that Julian Luna would kill Rayce, and that the Brujah primogen, for his part, had been planning on dying. However, Julian would extinguish Rayce before he had the chance to destroy Basil. It was the death of the Butcher that Thorne had hoped to see at Julian Luna's home that evening, and he had to fight with all of his will to prevent himself from flying from the roof and ripping Julian's head from his shoulders.

"I don't know what's going on between you two, but I'm not going to let it happen in my city," Julian said. He grabbed Rayce's dropped sword and moved toward the fallen Brujah primogen. "You have attacked the prince of Oakland, a member of my own bloodline," Julian stated. "As this has occurred in my city, I am able to deal with you. I sentence you to final death." Rayce's eyes went wide as Julian approached. He had not figured Luna would support Basil, and he was now helpless to defend himself. Julian attacked, knowing what needed to be done. If Rayce were allowed to live, he would eventually bring his strength to bear against the other primogen of the city. He would make himself prince. To Julian Luna that was unacceptable, and the prince decided to end the threat immediately.

He cut downward at Rayce's neck, but missed as the Brujah's body was knocked back in a hail of bullets. Rayce managed to stand, exerting the last of his strength in the effort, and was shot again, getting thrown over the hood of his Porsche and onto the ground on the other side. Julian turned to see who had fired the weapon, and fixed his gaze on Johnny Yashida standing before him, an MP5 in hand.

"What the hell are you doing?" Julian asked, enraged.

"You can't kill one of your own primogen," Johnny replied. "It would be bad for business. The others would never trust you." He looked the prince over, wondering if Julian was accepting the argument that he was presenting. "Besides," Johnny added, "I owe him a favor – a really big favor. That means I'll kill him, and spare him the embarrassment of being destroyed by a Ventrue. He would never have accepted that." Johnny lunged over the hood of the car and drew his ninja-to. He cut down quickly and a moment later raised up Rayce's head, displaying it like a trophy to San Francisco's prince. Yashida displayed no emotion. He wanted Luna to finally view him as he was – a soldier in Clan Telemon. Matt would not have given a hint of regret, and neither did Johnny.

"I can't believe you did it," Julian mumbled, shocked at the young Telemon's presumption, but grateful that he had been spared the possible repercussions of having killed one of his own primogen. "Get out of here Yashida," Julian said, dismissing the small Telemon with a wave. "Take care of the body."

"Sure," Yashida replied, his disgust at Julian's behavior evident in his voice. The Telemon picked up Rayce's decapitated body and loaded it into the Porsche, and then sped off. The prince did not notice Johnny's disrespect, however. He walked over to Basil and stood above him for a few minutes. He knew that he would be able to destroy the Ventrue elder if he wished, but he refused to take the opportunity. He knew that Basil could make an excellent ally if ever Julian needed one. Besides, he noted, Spinno was already rising to his feet. There would be witnesses if Luna killed his sire's brother. He drew the sword tip from the elder's chest, instantly reawakening the old Ventrue.

"What happened?" Basil asked, looking around for any sign of his Brujah attacker. "You let him go?" he asked incredulously, figuring that that would have been exactly what he would have expected from Julian Luna, the so-called prince of peace.

"No," Julian replied softly. "He is destroyed. You need not worry."

From a hiding place in a nearby bush, Cash looked on in horror, still not able to believe what he had seen. Julian had attempted to destroy a primogen, only to be prevented from doing so by a Telemon assassin. He realized that the prince could no longer be trusted. Julian was truly Ventrue, like everyone had always said. What was more, the Telemon were clearly in Julian's pocket, thug enforcers to the whimsy of the prince. He could not believe that Julian would destroy the one Brujah in the city that had ever acted responsibly. It was just because he had felt threatened, Cash realized. Then the Gangrel considered Sasha, and saw the similarities between her and her uncle. He would never again be brought under her spell. As far as he was concerned, she could rot in hell. He had a clan to look after, and he had to mend the rift that his manipulating lover had caused. He stopped for a moment, and rechecked his thoughts. _Ex-lover_, he corrected himself. Sasha was never to be anything more than another ex-lover. For Cash, the effects of the blood bond began to dissipate. He knew it would be a long time, possibly years, before he was finally free of his feelings for Sasha, but he would use all of his will to resist her until that time. He was Gangrel. He would be strong enough.

Thorne grinned as he looked at the scene before him. He was suddenly impressed in Johnny Yashida. He had not thought that any Telemon would have been capable of such a deceptive scheme, but he had seen it with his own eyes. For the first time, Thorne began to feel that the Telemon clan might survive after all. If they had brains as well as their demonstrated brawn, they would even be able to thrive. Thorne decided he would have to go to Pennsylvania again in the near future, to once again examine Siras Telemon. He would need to find what attribute the man possessed to have built something so strong in such a short time.

****

V

It had been little more than an hour since Julian had witnessed Rayce's death, bringing to an end the latest period of strife within his domain. There had been too much violence within the past few years, and he had resolved to end it. That had been the purpose behind his calling of an immediate meeting of the primogen. He would end the political maneuvering once and for all. He would take each clan down a peg, and remind them all that the Ventrue once again had a strong presence in the area. Basil had seized Oakland, and his coterie of Ventrue had been placed at Julian's disposal should he ever need them. Once again Julian would have soldiers from his own clan to call upon. Even more significantly, he had even resolved to embrace a couple of childer of his own. He was tired of having only a handful of Ventrue in the city. He would put the clans on notice that they were all second fiddle to the Ventrue.

The prince walked into his meeting room, and viewed the primogen sitting before him. All but Rayce were present, and everyone seemed to notice the Brujah's absence.

"Rayce will not be joining us this evening," Julian said, starting off the meeting before he had even taken his seat. "Earlier this evening, he attacked Basil Romanov, the new prince of Oakland. He was extinguished as a result of his folly." Julian searched the reaction of all those present. He had noticed a look of surprise on everyone's face when he named Basil as a neighboring prince. The primogen of San Francisco had all known Basil had claimed the title, but Julian would not have announced it so formally unless Basil had an actual hold on the city. None had expected Basil to take control so soon. Then, with the immediate dropping of the bombshell of Rayce's death, all but Daedalus had displayed shock. The Nosferatu, instead, betrayed his disappointment. It was to be expected, Julian mused. Rayce had controlled the Brujah to a large degree, taken from them their tendency to endanger the Masquerade on a nightly basis. With him gone, the Masquerade would be in danger once again. If the humans were to discover the kindred, it would be the Nosferatu that would fall first. It would be impossible for them to hide.

"So what happens now?" Patrick asked, speaking the thoughts that all present were thinking.

"First, we hold court," Julian responded. "There were a couple of kindred in the city that acted beyond their stations. You will all decide their fates." The turning over of a kindred's fate to the conclave was not unheard of in San Francisco, but it was rare nonetheless. Not since they had judged Eddie Fiori had the primogen been faced with an opportunity to condemn one of their fellows to the final death. Julian commonly reserved that right for himself. The prince walked to the door and opened it, and Sonny shoved Sasha inside. She looked around the room, glaring at those present.

"You're going to judge me?" she asked the group incredulously. "You have no right."

"We have every right," Cash shot back, shocking Sasha into sudden silence. The rage that her Gangrel lover seemed to hold toward her cut into her like a knife. She suddenly lost all of her resolve, and wished that she could sink into the floor, escaping all of the accusations and hatred that was being directed at her. Julian also looked at Cash. He tried desperately to hide the horror that quickly rose up within him. He had counted on Cash on to not sentence his niece to death. If the Gangrel voted for death, Sasha could very well be lost.

"What charges does your niece face?" Patrick asked Julian, betraying his amusement at the prince's predicament. The Tremere would enjoy every second of this trial. Even if Sasha escaped death, the Tremere primogen was certain that Julian would hesitate before he took such rash action again.

"She has endangered the Masquerade, assassinated fellow members of her clan, and defied the mandates of the prince," Julian responded. As he said the words, he knew that Sasha should die. By making her fate a political question rather than an issue of purely kindred law, he hoped to save her. It was now no longer a matter of whether Sasha deserved to be extinguished, it was a matter of which kindred wished to sentence the prince's niece to death. All present seemed to understand the gravity of the situation they found themselves in, and each primogen remained silent for a time.

"How many chances have you received to correct your behavior?" Patrick asked Sasha. He looked the young Brujah over, searching for the sense of fear that he wished to evoke in the rebellious kindred. "From what I have heard, Julian has protected you numerous times, and Rayce was more than patient with you. Why should we permit you to live? Do you think that it matters to me that you are Julian Luna's niece?" He saw the look of surprise on Sasha's face that the Tremere would be so bold in front of Luna, and Patrick gleefully continued. "To many of us here, that is all the more reason to have you extinguished. Do you understand that?" The Tremere watched as Sasha grew paler, allowing himself to enjoy the fear that he filled her with. Fear was not enough, however. He needed Sasha to experience terror. "Julian," Patrick began, "I have a suggestion. It would be a waste to simply destroy this excellent specimen." For a moment, Sasha's face brightened as she felt that she would once again receive a reprieve.

"What did you have in mind?" Julian asked suspiciously. He could not even begin to bring himself to imagine what fate the Tremere had prepared for Sasha.

"Give her to us," Patrick replied. "We could use to her to advance the power of all kindred."

"What?" Julian asked, shocked. He would be damned if he were to allow the Tremere to experiment on Sasha.

"That's completely out of line," Lillie added. "Death is one thing. I don't want you experimenting with her. She doesn't deserve that."

"Why not?" Cash asked, making clear to all present that he no longer seemed to feel the same toward his lover. Everyone in the room looked at him in shock, not being able to believe that he could treat Sasha with such indifference. Patrick Collins smiled.

"I guess we have one vote in support of my suggestion," Patrick stated boldly.

"I will not allow it," Julian stated flatly. "You were to decide whether she lives or dies. Alternative sentencing is not an option."

"Oh, I guarantee she would die if you give her to us," Patrick responded, a sadistic grin spreading across his thin lips. "Eventually," he added, almost as an afterthought. Sasha's legs started to go weak. She could not believe that everyone was actually discussing the matter. To make it even worse, she was faced with Cash's betrayal. She could not believe that living the way the Brujah had always lived had brought her to this place.

"Shut up!" Julian shouted at Patrick. "You will not receive Sasha for some twisted ritual."

"Julian," Patrick responded, seemingly unaffected by the prince's sudden show of emotion, "I am simply trying to extend some of your earlier decisions. You have allowed diablerie of condemned kindred, stating that their blood will be used to strengthen the rest of us. I am simply taking it one step further. Our research could help strengthen all of us. Is that so bad?" The Tremere looked upon Julian with a completely innocent expression, as if he was oblivious to the negative perceptions attached to his clan. He looked to Sasha and saw her swooning, and knew that his purpose had been accomplished. Daedalus also noted the Brujah's loss of spirit and hope, and immediately realized what Patrick was doing.

"I feel we should consider the Tremere's offer," Daedalus said, bringing stares from the other primogen. "Their suggestion has merit. However, I feel that Sasha should be given one last chance. She should keep in mind, though, what her fate will be should she step out of line again." Lillie smiled with Daedalus' words, as she was the next to catch onto the scheme. She, like all the others, was unwilling to incur the prince's disfavor by sentencing Sasha to death. However, if they simply let her go, she would be back again within a week. Patrick had been the first to see the need to put terror in her heart. Daedalus had followed, and the Toreador primogen quickly added her voice to the group.

"I have no problem with Daedalus' suggestion," Lillie stated. "If Sasha knows what will befall her should she step out of line again, I would be willing to at least consider giving her to the Tremere. It would seem to serve a greater purpose than simply destroying her." As Lillie spoke, Sasha began to lose all hope. Sure, she admitted to herself, she would probably walk out of the room intact, but she also knew that trouble had a way of always finding her. She doubted whether she would be able to last very long in the future. She firmly resolved that very moment to be more responsible.

Julian looked the table over. Patrick had made an offer, and Cash had supported it. Daedalus' compromise would probably be acceptable to the Gangrel and Tremere, which would turn the decision in favor of a stay of execution with a threat of a slow, painful death should she misbehave again. The idea seemed acceptable, as long as there was a chance of saving Sasha from the Tremere next time Sasha broke kindred law, as Julian was certain she eventually would.

"I will agree to considering Patrick's offer next time in exchange for forgiveness now," Julian said. The nodding heads all around the table satisfied the prince. "Sasha," Julian said, turning to his niece, "you have been given one final chance. Do you understand what will happen should you end up here before us again?" Sasha nodded slowly, genuinely contrite, keeping her eyes fixed on her toes. She could not believe that her uncle would sanction this decision, and she started to think about just how much trouble she had caused. In the back of her mind, she began to understand, very slowly, the magnitude of what she had done. She began to move silently to a chair in the corner when Julian called to her.

"Sasha, bring in the next one," the prince instructed. "Then sit quietly in the corner." Sasha nodded and opened the door. A minute later, Johnny Yashida walked slowly into the room.

The young Telemon seemed extremely unsteady on his feet, and his skin seemed paler than usual in his black pants, boots, shirt, and jacket. His eyes were slightly glossed over, and he looked from one primogen to the next, as if he were trying to make sense of his surroundings.

"Mr. Yashida," Julian began, addressing the collected primogen, "has apparently led Matt to believe that the Telemon attack on the Nightshades was legal under kindred law. He did not explain why, however. He will now explain to us, and if we find his explanation wanting, he will be under your authority to sentence to final death." Julian then looked to Matt. "You understand, of course, that as the primogen of your clan, you are ultimately responsible for the decision to attack. You could also face sentence." Matt nodded in response. He knew that his fate rested on his sire's explanation, and he was confident that Johnny would satisfy the prince's inquiry.

"Put simply," Johnny began, staring blankly at Julian, "I did not need your permission to kill Butterfly."

"Why not?" Julian asked immediately. He had noted that Johnny had always seemed to have the utmost respect for kindred law, and was certain that this situation would be no exception. However, he needed to have it all publicly explained, so no questions could be raised later. Julian wanted no one to attack him for using the Telemon as enforcers if any doubt as to their loyalties could be raised.

"She was my childe," Johnny replied. "The Traditions clearly give any sire the right to destroy his childe at any time. She was sentenced to final death years ago, and was thought destroyed when the Sabbat torched her house. Somehow, she escaped. When I discovered this, I began to track her across the country. I came here to end it."

"You diablerized her," Lillie said accusingly. "I can see it in your aura." She could see the unmistakable, sinister black veins outlined in Johnny's mottled, shifting-colored aura. The fact that the veins were so bright, so clearly defined, was evidence that the diablerie had occurred recently.

"No," Johnny replied, denying the charge. "I prefer to think of it as taking back what was mine. I gave her my blood in the embrace. I simply took it back tonight. It was the only way I could be sure that she was dead." He hoped his euphemistic way of describing his crime would be acceptable to the conclave. Most seemed willing to accept his excuse, as every primogen but Matt had sired a childe that had not quite worked out. While they had not diablerized the condemned neonate, they could see the rationale that Johnny was using. It was not as if he had fed upon one of his elders. Such a crime would have brought instant death had they caught him in the act. Deep inside his confused brain, Johnny smiled. He knew that the primogen had found out about the diablerie of the Telemon clan, and this provided him an opportunity to explain it away. "The Telemon clan is very disciplined," Johnny added. "There are times when our progeny are not up to the tasks that have been assigned to them. In the cases of these failures, the sire traditionally diablerizes the childe. As I said, we see this as a means of taking back the blood that we had initially given them."

"The Traditions make no such distinction in cases of diablerie," Lillie said, pushing the issue. She had long known Yashida to be a diabolist, a type of criminal particularly disliked by her. She would push to have him destroyed. "You are punishable for that crime."

"San Antonio, 1938," Johnny responded. Immediately Lillie looked to the surface of the table and asked no more questions. Everyone looked to the Toreador primogen, wondering what it was that Johnny knew about her that was serious enough to cause her to grow immediately silent, but no one dared ask.

"Explain the participation of the entire clan in this attack," Julian continued, returning to his original line of questioning. He wanted to find out how Johnny could fully explain the Telemon clan's actions. "While I admit you had the right to kill Butterfly, your clan should not have been involved. That violated my edict."

"Oh, come on Julian," Cash suddenly said, his patience appearing to have left him. "Is this a witch hunt or something? He had the right to kill Butterfly, and I for one am glad he did it. At least someone in this city had the balls to get involved." He glared at the prince, his eyes accusing Julian of the impotence that all had noted in the latest crisis. "The fact of the matter is that it's all over. Let's finish this bullshit." Patrick almost fell out of his chair as Cash spoke. Never before had the Gangrel shown backbone in the face of the prince, and the Tremere loved every second of it. While the Brujah may have been all but extinct, the future would be bright enough as long as the Gangrel filled the void of the rabble and became the newest rebels of the city. The status quo of several layers of chaos would remain unchanged.

"I extended the aforementioned Tradition," Yashida said in response to Luna's question, ignoring Cash's outburst. "The Nightshades were Butterfly's progeny, and I sentenced them to death as well. If she had died when she was supposed to, the Nightshades would never have existed. I simply used my acceptable progeny to exterminate the unacceptable ones. I think my actions would be permitted in most places." Yashida looked over the prince, making sure he was not pushing Julian too hard, and then continued. "It was because Magnus and Michelle are not my progeny that they did not actively participate. They simply subdued Sasha, Jenni, and Cash."

"I didn't need any subduing," Cash added. "I was more than willing to sit back and watch those bitches get butchered. They fuckin' had it comin'." Julian once again glanced at his angry Gangrel primogen, and then looked to the other kindred seated at the table.

"What do you all say?" he asked. Julian was satisfied with Yashida's explanation, and was certain the others would be as well.

"Though he uses a creative reading of the Traditions to justify his actions, I believe what he did was within kindred law," Daedalus said, replying first. "He should be allowed to live."

"I guess we might as well let him go," Cash added reluctantly. He was filled with fury at Yashida's actions against Rayce earlier that night, but he had to pick his battles wisely. In time, he would deal with Johnny and the rest of his clan, but that could wait. Rayce's execution could be avenged once Cash had other responsibilities fulfilled.

"He killed an anarch gang that was endangering the Masquerade," Patrick said. "I see nothing wrong with this. Who cares what his legal basis is?" Patrick smiled as he spoke. Not long ago he had done his best to use a similar anarch gang to do his dirty work for him. It never ceased to amuse him how an ally one day could be useless rabble the next within the world of the kindred.

"It seems reasonable enough to me," Lillie stated, still not looking Yashida. She was extremely displeased with the fact that no one paid much attention to his diablerie, but she dared not press the issue. She had too many secrets to hide, and had no idea how many of them Yashida had been able to unearth.

"Then you are free to go," Julian said smoothly to the obviously weakened Telemon. "Stay out of trouble, Mr. Yashida."

In an instant Sasha had burst out of her chair and hit Johnny in the face, instantly dropping him to the floor. No sooner had his body landed than she proceeded to kick him repeatedly. Yashida rolled around, futilely attempting to dodge his attacker, but seemed unable to muster enough strength to do so. A moment later Julian had grabbed his niece and thrown her into the chair in which she had been sitting.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked. "Do you wish to already make us regret our decision concerning you?"

Sasha glared at the prince, no longer thinking about the consequences of her actions, her vow to behave having already been long forgotten. During Johnny's explanation, her anger had been growing. When he had been set free, it had been too much for her to hide any longer. She had determined to destroy the small Telemon.

"Why does he get to go free?" Sasha spat at Julian. "He killed without getting your permission. I did the same thing, and you threaten to send me to the Tremere! What makes him so fucking special?"

"I have a brain," Johnny mumbled as he slowly rose from the floor. Sasha again lunged at him, but was held in check by the prince. Julian looked back at Johnny, his disapproval obvious on his face.

"He just gets listened to because he claims to be of some new clan," Sasha added. "Oh la dee da. They're just Brujah that needed an excuse to take over their first city. Butterfly told me all about it. They needed to be able to explain their extermination of several clans and the Sabbat presence in their city." Julian looked at Johnny in shock, unable to believe what his niece said. However, he had to admit that such a move would make sense. He had heard of the political savvy of Siras Telemon, and did not put such a move past him. Without proof, however, he could do nothing.

"I assure you," Johnny shot back, "we are indeed a unique clan." Shadows began to shift around him, and he gazed deeply into Sasha's eyes. "Do not make us demonstrate just how different we can be." The Brujah caught a wave of fear passing over her, and immediately grew silent. The fight had once again been taken out of her, and she was willing to be a passive witness to the events around her. Julian had also caught the threat that Johnny had made, but was indifferent. By that point, he was more than willing to have Sasha frightened into silence.

"Lillie," Julian began, "I am curious as to what the role of your clan was in this whole affair." He had completed his review of the two kindred that existed outside of the conclave. Now he would examine those that had acted from their positions of power.

"I took back a couple of clubs, Julian," Lillie replied quickly. "I had nothing to do with the violence. You know the Toreador avoid conflict."

"Can't imagine why," Cash commented, speaking the thoughts of several in the room. The Toreador were generally not regarded as powerful warriors, although the strongest of their clan could stand toe to toe with the strongest of any other.

"Before you even ask me, let me assure you that I was free of guilt in anything," Patrick said to the prince. "My colleagues and I are busy with some research. We have little time for the petty disagreements of the other clans." Julian smiled in response. He was certain that the Tremere had been behind at least some of what had occurred, but he had no proof to back up his suspicions. For the time being, he would leave well enough alone. There would be no point in angering the Tremere until his own clan was rebuilt and able to challenge the warlocks on equal footing.

"As for my clan, we have a lot to work out," Cash said. "I will be taking my leave of all responsibilities to this group until further notice. I will rarely appear at the conclave, and my clan will no longer be responsible for the security of the prince." Cash decided it would be wiser to not air his true feelings – the belief that it would be in everyone's best interests to have the prince die. He had seen enough of Julian's overbearing soul that night to last a lifetime. He would never again be Luna's lapdog. Julian nodded in response to Cash's statement, oblivious to the Gangrel's thoughts.

"What about you, Matt?" Julian asked. "Are you willing to resume performing security?"

"No," Matt responded. "Clan Telemon also has some internal issues to resolve. We will not spread ourselves thin protecting the prince while we feel that we may be vulnerable ourselves." Matt also held back his true opinion that they would all be better off with Luna dead. He had heard about Julian's attack on Rayce during the Brujah's duel with Basil. He would never again trust the prince.

"You can have some of my people," Lillie offered. "They are young, but responsible. I probably have the largest clan in the city now, so I have plenty to spare." Both Matt and Cash fought back open laughter. They had seen some of the Toreador in the city, and were confident that given their present attitudes towards the prince, Julian could not be in better hands.

"Thank you," Julian replied graciously. "It would be nice to have more Toreador around the mansion for a change."

The prince looked over his primogen, satisfied that most of their issues had been worked out. "Of course, there will probably be an inquiry as to the death of Metairie and his archons, but as we all know, Rayce and his clan were responsible." Luna looked over all those present, making sure that none betrayed any sign that would indicate otherwise. Satisfied that no others had been involved, he continued. "Rayce lost his clan in the attack, and was later killed himself fighting Basil. The matter should be closed." Everyone nodded in response, and behind Julian, Johnny grinned like the proverbial cat that had eaten the proverbial canary. Rayce's plan had succeeded. There would be no one searching for his childer. _The old Brujah's dream might yet survive, _Yashida mused.

****

VI

Johnny sat on the floor of the Lombard Plaza Hotel, Michelle's arms wrapped comfortingly around him. Tears of blood slowly dripped down the Telemon's cheeks, and an occasional sob shook his body. Michelle understood the symptoms well – Johnny was struggling with the existence of the remnants of Butterfly's persona within his mind. When he had diablerized his childe, Johnny had absorbed her abilities, knowledge, and feelings. Now he fought to regain control, to place his own personality above hers.

"You'll be ok," Michelle said soothingly. "Just give it time."

"You don't understand," Johnny replied slowly, seeming to struggle to find the words he wanted. "I know now." He laid his head against her shoulder, smearing blood on her white sweater. Michelle did not notice, however. She was too wrapped up in helping Johnny regain power over himself.

"Know what?" Michelle asked.

"Butterfly hated me," Johnny answered, the pain evident in his voice. "All these years, I have always thought that deep down she liked me, that her rebellion was against Siras' hierarchy, and not me. It wasn't, though." He sobbed again for a few moments, and then continued slowly. "I had always loved Butterfly – she was my childe. There is a special bond that usually forms between a sire and childe. With her, there was none. She had no use for me."

Michelle held her friend tighter, trying to reassure him. She knew that within a couple of days, the pain would be gone, and Butterfly's personality, like her abilities, would mostly leave Yashida's body. He would forget the pain, and become more like he had always been. Of course, he would never again be truly the same; diablerie would change a kindred forever, but he would largely emerge unaffected. 

"Do you think Matt hates me?" Johnny asked, genuine concern in his voice.

"I'm sure he doesn't," Michelle replied, trying to reassure Yashida.

"What if he does?" Johnny asked. "I mean, Mason and Uiko don't hate me. They're blood bound. Siras said all of the new childer are to be blood bound. Matt isn't though, and I refuse to do it. I wonder if he hates me."

"He does not hate you," Michelle reiterated, trying to assure Johnny. "He would do anything for you. He's not like Butterfly. I was talking to Marcus once about her. He said that when Siras realized he had become a distinct bloodline, that you and he had realized it also. Butterfly never did." Michelle looked closely at Johnny, hoping her words were getting through to him. "She had remained Brujah. She never made the change. She was never like you, and hated you because you had left her behind. You all left her behind." Michelle rubbed Johnny's shoulders, helping to ease him during the pain. After awhile he grew quiet and went to sleep. Michelle looked at the clock. The sun would be up soon, and she still had a couple of things to do. She lowered Johnny's body gently onto the floor and quickly went outside. She needed to feed, and there was a group of college guys on vacation in the adjacent room. Just a quick bite and a drink, and she would be able to join Johnny in sleep.

****

VII

After calling his mysterious contact, Carter slowly looked over the books in Rayce's apartment, marveling at the age of some of the tomes. There were books from hundreds of years earlier, some written in hand before the printing press had been developed. Daria looked over the computer that Rayce had on the desk, and immediately commenced drooling. Sam simply sat down in a leather chair and turned on the television, looking for the prices of stocks in the European market, and starting to figure how the American exchange could be affected.

They were there for a short time when the door to Rayce's inner sanctum opened and a tall form walked in. The Brujah were faced with a man who stood roughly six and a half feet tall, and dressed completely in black. His skin was alabaster white, and his hair dark as his black leather coat.

"My name is Thorne," the man said, introducing himself. "You do not know who I am, but rest assured that I know a great deal about all of you. I have been watching you for quite a while."

"You're the one I spoke to on the phone?" Carter asked. He was unnerved in the presence of the stranger, but he had confidence that anyone that Rayce would have put them in contact would not do them any harm.

"Yes," Thorne replied. "I was contacted by one of Rayce's elders. The man knew I was in the city and could be of service to you. That elder told Rayce how to get in touch with me if anything were ever to happen to him."

"So you don't know Rayce at all?" Daria asked.

"I met him once," Thorne replied. "However, that was before he had been embraced. Rayce's sire had been a friend of mine, and I had recommended that he embrace Rayce. I realized he could be a valuable addition to our clan."

"So you're Brujah too?" Sam asked, noting that he had never seen this man around in the city. If he had been there for awhile, as he claimed, he should have reported to Rayce at some point. From the way Thorne had described things, it seemed as if Rayce had not even been aware of the older vampire's presence.

"Yes," Thorne replied with a smile. "I am a very special kind of Brujah, Sam, as you will soon discover." He then looked over to Carter. "You will also have the truth revealed to you. You will be given your birthright, a gift that carries with it a great dream, and a great responsibility."

"I don't understand," Carter replied. He was baffled by Thorne's enigmatic description of their futures.

"You will," Thorne assured him. "I will introduce you to one of our elders. He will prepare you to work with someone who has shown a great interest in you."

"What about me?" Daria asked. "I feel like I'm being left out of all this."

"You are," Thorne replied flatly. "You are not one of us, so you will not receive the perks that the others will. However, you are of interest to another group that I have, on occasion, traded information with. I will introduce you to a representative of them now." Thorne looked deeply into Daria's mind, making certain that her memories of events left out certain details, and then quickly walked across the room and opened the door. He gestured outside into the bare front room of the apartment, and a moment later a man walked into the back rooms. Daria examined him, noting his rather unprofessional appearance. He had a long, blond ponytail and a beaten up brown duster. Overall, she was not impressed.

"I'm K.T. Corben," the man said, introducing himself. He had rushed over to the apartment, leaving Erica behind once again, and was growing restless. He had disappeared from his friend's side many times in San Francisco, and he was concerned that she would grow suspicious. He also had to figure out how he would explain Daria's presence to Erica. He had been assigned to escort her to Salt Lake City, and he was sure that at some point Erica would notice that she and K.T. were not making the trip alone. Of course, he was not willing to bet on her noticing in the near future, but he was certain it would happen eventually.

"So I'm just supposed to go with you?" Daria asked.

"Yeah," K.T. replied. "You could say no, but Thorne here would have to kill you. See, the only way they can afford to have you running around, evidence to the fact that not all of Rayce's people are dead, is if you join up with an organization that will keep you hidden. We can do that. It is your choice, though."

"Go with you or die?" Daria asked sarcastically. She was not at all pleased with the options available to her, but she was willing to try something new. "Let's go," she said with a smile.

K.T. walked over to a bookshelf and grabbed two Glock 27 pistols. "If you travel with me, you're going to need these," he said with a grim smile. He then walked silently out of the apartment, and Daria followed hesitantly.

Once they had gone, Thorne looked the remaining two kindred over head to toe and smiled. "Gentlemen, welcome to the first day of the rest of your lives." He then also left the apartment. Carter and Sam followed, the younger Brujah taking care to lock the door behind him. He hoped that someday he would be able to return to San Francisco, and he would like very much to use his sire's old apartment.

****

Fin

(Until the Next, and Final, Chapter…)


End file.
